


anti-static

by gold_rush



Series: his voice in the dark [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Agape, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hair Braiding, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, Ice Skating, Late Night Conversations, Love, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Past Violence, Phone Calls & Telephones, Self-Esteem Issues, Supportive Katsuki Yuuri, Supportive Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-11-29 01:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11430504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gold_rush/pseuds/gold_rush
Summary: Yuri reaches out to Yuuri in the middle of the night. It's obvious that he's upset and hurt but it's hard to know why over the phone.





	1. anti-static

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this story refers to a hate crime (details and additional content warnings are in the end notes).

Yuuri is fast asleep when his phone starts to vibrate on the bedside table. The sudden illumination of the bright screen - in an otherwise perfect winter-darkness - dazzling him as he opens his eyes. Groaning, he raises a hand to shield his face from the sudden intensity of the glare - his eyes burning like he’s just stared up at the midday sun.

As the vibrating continues, Yuuri feels Victor stir beside him, hears his soft groan as he rolls onto his side; pulling the bed covers up and over his naked shoulder. There’s nothing else for him to do. Yuuri abandons his eyes in favour of grabbing the phone in an attempt to preserve the gentle sleep of his lover.

Connecting the call, he presses it against his ear and mumbles a sleep-laden, ‘Hello?’

There's nothing but silence on the other end, but it’s not the kind of silence that means no one is there. Yuuri can hear it as clear as day, the gentle hitching of breath.

He pulls the phone away from his cheek, squints at the screen, he's not wearing his glasses but he can still see the photo in a vague blur - can see the leopard print fabric and the halo of yellow the seeps off the image via it’s artificial backlight. It’s Yurio. His heart starts pounding.

Yuuri presses the phone back against his ear, almost dropping it altogether in his haste, pulling himself upright so his back is pressed firmly against the headboard. Something’s wrong.

‘Yurio?’ He whispers, panic starting to swell in the pit of his belly, ‘Yuri? Are you okay?’ 

There’s a little huff in reply but that’s not enough, that doesn’t make Yuuri feel any better -  the little russian is still breathing too fast and way too shallowly.

‘Yuri?’ The older man tries again, ‘Are you hurt? Where are you? Is it your grandpa?’

Silence lingers heavily in the air then, before Yuuri hears a tiny, worn-out voice say, ‘This was a mistake, you must have been asleep. I f-forgot about the time zones. Go back to bed, piggy.’

‘No! Wait!’ Yuuri urges, as quickly and as loudly as he can and still have it be classed as a whisper. ‘Please, Yurio. Don’t hang up. It’s okay. It’s okay. Please, tell me what’s happening.’

‘I…’ 

‘I’m listening,’ Yuuri says in a reassuring voice, or at least in what he hopes is a reassuring voice, it’s hard for him to tell so early in the morning. ‘Go on. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.’

The russian debates hanging up there and then, the older man knows it, he’s considering the situation, he’s deliberating his options; probably trying to understand why the other man is being so kind to him when he’s always so mean, and rude, and cold.

Yurio’s breath hitches again, it’s clearly unexpected because Yuuri hears the young man muffle the gasp of it with his hand, before he starts to cry quietly down the phone.

Yuuri’s heart is thudding, he can feel the pulse of it in his neck, and his worry grows tenfold. He can tell Yuri is trying to be quiet and he _hates_ that. That makes him feel sick - the resulting nausea coiling painfully through his belly. The teenager doesn’t have to pretend, not with him. 

‘Please, Yurio,’ Yuuri pleads helplessly, tears starting to fill his own eyes - further blurring his already blurred vision. ‘Tell me what’s happening.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ Yuri cries and the vulnerability of it hits Yuuri like a brick to the face.

‘Shhh now. You haven’t done anything wrong,’ Yuuri reasons automatically, phone pressed hard against the side of his face. He’s never heard his young friend sound like this before - so hurt and so raw.

‘How could you know that, huh, _idiot_? How the hell would you know how right or wrong I am?!’ Yuri snaps harshly but there’s nothing in it except pain. It’s like he’s caught up in a maelstrom of emotions that are dead set on ripping him to shreds. Leaving nothing behind but scraps of carrion for passing predators.

‘Yurochka,’ Yuuri starts earnestly - using the nickname he’s heard Victor and Nikoli use for the youngster; hoping he isn’t overstepping any boundaries as he presses on, ‘You could never do anything wrong.’ 

‘Are you _kidding me_?! Are you _that_ stupid?! I’m _always_ horrible to you!’ The teenager shouts, ‘What’s wrong with you, anyway?! Do you like me telling you how much of a loser you are or something? Do you like being humiliated? Is that it? Is that all you filthy faggots are good for?!’ 

His brain seems to catch up with his words then and the young russian gasps, like he's just slapped himself in the face with a bucket of ice water.

‘ _Yurio_ ,’ Yuuri whispers sharply, his eyes wide in the dark, like the wind has been knocked out of his sails. He doesn't mean that. He doesn't. Yuuri knows that. Something has happened. Something bad. He knows Yuri, he loves Yuri. Despite his harshness, maybe _because_ of his harshness. And he knows him enough to know that he doesn’t mean that. After all, this is the young man who recently spent all of his savings buying Victor a locket with Yurri’s picture inside it for his birthday. So, Yuuri knows that something must have happened. He knows that he’s rattled. 

Yuuri takes a long steadying breath, then he pulls his knees up under the covers so he can rest his forehead on them, before he says with unflinching conviction, ‘You’re a good person Yuri Plisetsky. If someone has told you otherwise, if they’ve told you that you’re wrong, then they’re a liar. You hear me?’

‘ _I’m sorry_...’ The small voice squeaks then, like he hasn't registered a single word the older man has just said to him, his speech soaked with an all-consuming, rising panic that the older man recognises all too easily as he repeats his rushed apologies, ‘ _I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Прости. Прости. Прости-’_

‘Yuri, you need to listen to me. Yuri? Listen to what I’m saying. You're okay. Just take a deep breath. Everything’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I promise. I'm not mad at you,’ Yuuri urges, silently pleading that the blonde hears and understands exactly what he’s saying.

The russian sounds so unlike himself that Yuuri’s already mentally packing his bag, he’s already booking himself on the next flight from Japan to  Russia.

‘They were right. _They were all right._ I can see it now. I-I don't deserve Victor. And I don't deserve you. I can't… I'm no _good_. I'm no good. I’m a faker. I’m a parasite. Even my own mother… she couldn't love me. She must have known, she must have seen. I'm just… I'm just a no-good bastard from Moscow. I've been kidding myself all along. You’re too good. How could you love something like me? All I do is hurt you. How could you ever-’

‘YURIO, STOP IT!’ Yuuri shouts abruptly, startling the teenager into silence. Victor shoots up in bed beside him, his eyes wide as he flicks on the lamp and looks over at Yuuri; at the phone he has pressed firmly against his ear.

Yuuri reaches out and grabs his lover’s arm in response, holds him firm as he adjusts, still half-asleep. He can see the worry written all over his face. He takes another deep breath. He tries so hard to suffocate his blossoming anger. But he can’t. How _dare_ he? How dare that bright young boy think so little of himself?

‘Just stop! You don't get to sit there and tell me that I don't love you! That you're _unlovable_. That knowing you is some kind of burden! Do you understand me? I get to decide that. Only me. And I'm telling you that I love you. That Victor loves you. And there’s nothing you could do to change that. Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with you. _Not a damned thing._ Do you hear me?’ Yuuri listens to the teenager’s laboured breathing for a moment before he says, ‘Yuri, say it back to me.’ 

It’s not a question, it’s a command.

‘I _can't_ ,’ Yuri says then, with so much honesty that a gentle tear slips down Yuuri’s cheek.

‘Yes, you can. You can say it because it’s true.’

‘My Yurochka,’ Victor utters solemnly, his expressive eyes awash with something so close to heartbreak that Yuuri has to look away from him. Staring instead at the black shadows lingering in the far corners of the room.

Through their connection, Yuuri hears the blonde moving, hears him sniff, hears the pull of a tissue out of a box. At least, the older man thinks, Yuri is somewhere where he has tissues. It’s seems unlikely that he’s anywhere but home, and a small flash of relief rushes through his body.

Not that it lasts.

‘Ahhh!’ Yuri hisses sharply, undeniably in pain, and Yuuri’s grip on his phone tightens.

‘Are you hurt?’

‘It's nothing.’

‘ _Yurio_ ,’ the older man says, his hand still clutching at Victor’s arm.

‘I said it's nothing.’

‘Do you need to go to the hospital?’

‘It's just a few cuts and bruises, don't be a nag about it,’ The teenager spits, though all traces of his usual malice are gone. Instead, he sounds like a child using words he doesn’t quite understand yet.

‘Promise me,’ Yuuri says then, his spine rigid, ‘Yuri? Promise me.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Relax, old man. Even the ice has a stronger right hook than those losers.'

Yuuri feels his breath catch in his throat at that, ‘Someone hit you? Yurio?’

Yuri is silent for too long. Then he huffs, his voice smothered in fake bravado, ‘Heh. You should see the other guys.’

‘Okay, that’s it. I need you to tell me exactly wh-’ Yuuri begins but Victor is reaching for the phone, his eyes pleading with his lover to let him speak to the boy he has considered his brother - his младший брат - since the day they met one another at the rink.

Yuuri just let’s him take it. He can’t stand the way his lover’s face is twisted.

‘Yurochka, what’s happening?’ Victor asks as soon as the phone is in his hands. The high lilt of his voice strained with worry instead of its usual happiness.

There's another patch of silence then, and Victor pinches the bridge of his nose. Yuuri can see how close he is to loosing it. So, he rubs a hand down his lover’s spine. Then he reaches further across his back and scoops Victor’s phone up from the bedside table.

He opens the messages, scrolls down until he finds Yakov’s name, and starts typing - the fact that his fingers are shaking only makes it harder.

‘Yura?’ Victor says, a tense hand on his forehead.

‘It was my own stupid fault,’ the young russian confesses eventually.

Victor shakes his head at that, ‘That cannot be, my little kitten, how can someone hurting you be your fault?’

‘You've known me for long enough, Vitya. You should know the answer to that. Don’t tell me you’ve gone stupid like your piggy?’

‘You think that the way you act, the way you talk, means that you somehow deserve to be hurt?’ Victor says, ignoring the insult, his voice wavering as he runs an unsteady hand through his hair.

‘Yes. No. I don't know. _Maybe_?’ Yuri says honestly and Victor’s face falls.

He’s messed up, he’s really messed this up. He was supposed to be a role model for the boy.

‘I'm sorry,’ Victor says then, as tears start to track freely down his cheeks, ‘I have failed you. I have let you down.’

‘No, Vitya, you haven’t-’ Yuri starts quickly, his mortification leaking freely through the phone.

‘Of course I have!’ Victor shouts, the emotion finally bubbling over, ‘If you can’t even _believe_ that I love you. If you think that you could ever _deserve_ to be beaten. You are my family. My _heart_. Yuri. And I have failed to reflect your own value back at you. I have failed you in an unforgivable way. Can you forgive me, Yura? Please, forgive me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my little kitten.’ 

‘No! Stop saying that! Why are you saying that?’ Yuri says hotly, annoyed that Victor is implicating himself in his mess.

‘You are such a beautiful person,’ Victor whispers then, just as Yuuri laces their fingers together. ‘You are so strong, and so determined. But I have not told you that enough.’

‘You’re wrong. I am not strong,’ Yuri says quietly, finally, with too much bitterness for someone his age.

‘Yuri, what has happened today? Please, tell me,’ Victor says, his voice straining under the increasing heartbreak. ‘Please, let me make it up to you.’ 

‘Stop saying that, Vitya! I mean it! You’re driving me mad! You've done nothing but try to help me... even though all I ever give you in return is my bad attitude,’ Yuri says quickly, heat burning up his voice. The young skater is furious. 

‘No! I won't stop saying it, not until you stop saying _that_! You're allowed to express yourself however you wish. Not for one moment have I ever believed that you've hated me, or that you don’t care for me as much as I care for you,’ Victor says firmly.

‘You say that now, but you don't know what I said, Vitya. He didn’t _deserve_ that!’

‘Who didn’t?’

‘Yuuri didn’t!’ The young russian explodes before he adds, much quieter, ‘I'm… I’m a horrible person, Vitya.’

‘No. You're not horrible! You’re not. And you mustn’t say that about yourself. When you wound yourself you wound me and it hurts, Yuri. You’re hurting me,’ Victor says, glancing over at his shaken lover,  ‘And listen to me, whatever it is you said to Yuuri, it doesn't matter. It’s okay.’

‘How would you know!?’ 

‘Because he’s holding my hand so tightly my skin is burning... and his face is covered in tears, and they’re tears he’s crying for you, not because of you.’

‘ _Vitya_..’ Yuri says then, a heavy sob echoing through the phone. Victor listens to him cry in horror, until his fingers spasm and the phone falls down onto the sheets.

Yuuri picks it up, closes his eyes and listens to the teenager cry until his throat is hoarse.

‘It's okay,’ Yuuri offers gently and there’s a sniffle on the line.

‘I didn't mean it, Yuuri. I'm so sorry. I can't stand that word, I don't know why I said that to you. I've seen it thrown at Vitya almost every day since we met, and I hate those people. The way they laugh at him, the way they spit at him like there's something wrong with _him_. Like there's something wrong with _you_. With... with _me_.’

‘Yurio?’ The older man says then, in a quiet gasp; pieces of the puzzle slowly starting to come together in his head. ‘You know it doesn’t matter who you love, there’s nothing wrong with it, you know that.’

‘I _know_ that I know that!’ Yuri snaps, before he holds his breath so pointedly that Yuuri knows he must be red in the face.

‘That’s what this is about, isn’t it?’ The older man asks gently, Victor pressing against his side, hoping for answers, his ear as close to the phone as it can get.

‘I just…’ Yuri huffs, frustrated with himself, he usually has no problem saying what he feels, saying the first thing that comes into his head, but this is different. This is too real, too close to the bone. ‘I just don’t understand why people hate us.’

‘Oh, Yurio,’ Yuuri says, glancing over at his lover who has his hand pressed firmly against his mouth, ‘I don’t know why either. I wish I did. Is that why they hurt you?’

‘да, yes, that’s what they kept saying. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. _Faggot_. But I… I only kissed him on the cheek,’ the young russian offers, like he needs to rationalise it. Like he owes them an explanation. 

‘I’m so sorry,’ Yuuri whispers, his eyes pulled up to the ceiling. Disgusted by a humanity that would beat a boy for something as innocent as a kiss on the cheek.

‘Did they hurt him too?’ Yuuri asks then and Victor shifts uncomfortably beside him.

‘No. They recognised me, so they followed me. Who could forget the Russian Fairy? Yakov has my face plastered all across this stupid city. And I was an idiot, I thought they’d leave me alone eventually but they jumped me in the park. They hit me and they kicked me. And I remember thinking that they could end everything I’ve worked so hard for. My whole life wasted. And for what, for a kiss?

Then they told me that I was filthy, and disgusting, and a vampire draining the energy of everyone around me. How can a world renowned coach like Yakov Feltsman give a shit about a piece of Moscow trash like me? How can someone as respected as Lilia Baranovskaya stand to have me around, always making mistakes? They kept saying, ‘ _it makes no sense, it makes no sense’_ And it doesn't. I’m not… I’m not like you, I’m not kind, or gentle, or good.’

‘You are, Yurochka!’ Victor urges, and Yuuri nods pointlessly beside him. ‘You’re every one of those things..’

‘I just don’t want it to always be like this,’ Yuri says then, his thoughts racing around, making him dizzy, ‘I don’t get it. Why can’t we hold hands? Why can’t we kiss each other on busy streets like they can? What’s so disgusting about it?’

‘Nothing. There’s _nothing_ disgusting about it,’ Yuuri states firmly; before Victor adds, ‘You are beautiful, my love, and your love is beautiful too.’

‘But I don’t understand what I did wrong... and maybe… maybe that means that everything I do is wrong somehow,’ Yuri offers openly.

‘No. _No_ ,’ Yuuri says without hesitation, ‘You haven't done anything wrong. You’re not wrong. You’re not broken, you don’t need fixing, Yurio. Victor and I, we love you so much.’

‘I… I know, I _do_ know that, I’m sorry,’ Yuri whispers.

‘It’s okay, you’re upset, you’re allowed to be upset.We’re upset too,’ Yuuri offers, glancing over at Victor - his lover looks exhausted.

‘I hate them,’ Yuri says then, his voice so quiet it could be mistaken for a hiss of static, ‘And I hate that they make me feel so ashamed of myself.’

‘No. Please, don’t feel ashamed, my little kitten,’ Victor pleads, his cheek against the phone, ‘Please, don’t let them ruin your life. You’re a strong boy. You are. And you must think of us, Yuuri and I, who both love you so much. We will never be ashamed of you. We never could be. And I pray that you will never be ashamed of us. Not for this. Not for loving, Yura.'

‘ _Vitya_..’ Yuri says, his voice soft and tired.

He's worn out. So, when there’s a knock on the door in St. Petersburg, it startles Yuri. He makes a confused kind of hum that rattles with anxiety.

‘It’s okay. It’s just Yakov,’ Yuuri says, ‘Go and let him in. I asked him to come over.’

The blonde gets up without words. Victor and Yuuri listen to the muffled movement, listen to the unlocking of the door, listen to the tut that Yakov lets out when he sees the boy, when he takes in his bruised cheek, his split lip, and the burning redness of his eyes.

‘ _Yura_ ,’ they hear the older man say, before they hear the ruffle of fabric and the gentle hushing of their mentor. ‘It’s okay, I'm here now. Just let it all out.’

The lovers listen quietly, as Yakov holds onto the boy. Humming calmly until Yuri falls silent.

‘Yura,’ Victor says then, and the young russian sniffs, 'да, Vitya?’

‘Let him take care of you, okay? Yuuri and I will see you tomorrow.’

‘But..you have the exhibition skate in two days.’

‘Family comes first,’ Victor says easily, ‘You know that. Always.’

‘But Yuuri has been working so hard...’

‘да. Yes. But you're his family too.’ Victor reminds him, and there’s a fresh hint of calm in his voice - he feels relieved that Yakov is there. The rest they can sort out tomorrow. So long as Yuri is not alone.

‘Ugh,’ the teenager says then, sounding more like his usual self, ‘How exactly did I get stuck with two old geezers?’

‘Three old geezers,' Yakov says then and they hear the young russian groan.

‘This day is getting much worse.’

‘We’ll see you tomorrow, Yurochka. Just call us if you need to, I mean it, ’ Victor says then before Yuuri leans in and adds, ‘Goodnight, Yurio. I love you.’

“I.. I love you too,’ Yuri says and the older man grins.

‘I’ll give him a kiss for you, Yura,’ Victor smiles and Yuri groans.

‘Don't be gross, loser. It’s disgusting!’ Yuri’s breath catches as his words catch up with him. Why did he say that. After this. After everything that’s happened. What’s _wrong_ with him? He’s about to apologise but Victor and Yuuri are laughing.

‘Two kisses then!’ Victor says as he leans over and plants two loud kisses on his lover’s face.

‘Ugh,’ Yuri shudders, but Yuuri can tell that he’s smiling before Victor hangs up. The young russian slipping his phone into his pocket before he wraps his arms around Yakov’s waist. His eyes closed tight.

‘Everything will be okay,’ his mentor says. ‘You know I always know these things.’

 

Back in Japan, Victor is staring at Yuuri's phone, like he’s trying to understand everything that’s just happened, then he hiccups and the tears start streaming down his face again. Yuuri kneels on the mattress, throws his arms around his lover’s neck, and holds him tight.

‘I don’t think either of us will be getting much sleep. Shall we start packing our things? The first plane out of here leaves in six hours. I can make us some tea,’ Yuuri says, leaning back, cupping Victor’s damp cheeks.

‘Yes,’ he says, ‘Yes. I just want to hold him. He's such a good boy.’

‘I know he is,’ Yuuri smiles, using a thumb to wipe away his lover’s tears, ‘And we’ll be with him soon.’

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Note: this story is set around a hate crime, the attack is related directly to Yuri's sexuality. Violence is mentioned but, as it happens before the story begins, it is non-explicit. This story also touches vaguely upon adolescent sexuality but there is nothing explicit - the inciting incident is a cheek kiss. 
> 
> In future chapters there will be: references to trauma and anxiety, and a mention of death as a direct result of a homophobic hate crime (original character, in the past).


	2. reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Yuuri fly out to Russia to visit Yuri after he's assaulted for kissing another boy. Yuri appears to be okay - or as okay as can be expected - but Victor is having a very hard time.

When they climb out of their taxi in a snowy St. Petersburg, Victor sprints to the door of the russian skaters’ dormitories. Using the key that he’s had clutched in his hand since they boarded their plane in Japan. Opening the building’s main door without hesitation - pausing just long enough to allow Yuuri to slip inside before he lets the weighted wood go and flees up the stairs. Climbing two - sometimes three - steps at a time.

Yuuri almost struggles to keep up with him, his backpack is forever heavier than Victor’s, but he does so anyway - he’s fitter than he’s ever been. He’s increased the amount of time he puts in at the gym by four hours per week and, since he and Victor have been together, he’s been keeping himself fit and healthy in a lot of different ways. Even so, he can’t deny that he’s a little flushed, a little sweaty, a little unsure of exactly how many flights of stairs they've climbed so quickly - maybe five or six - before Victor rushes down a dimly lit corridor and pauses in front of the furthest door.

The russian lets out a long, shuddering breath. His shoulders sagging a little, slipping out of that tight line they’ve been held in for hours. He’s been a mess the whole journey. Too quiet, then too loud. Too clingy - even by Victor’s touchy-feely standards - and then half-jumping out of his skin when Yuuri so much as touches his arm affectionately. He’s rattled. But it’s understandable. Yuuri would never dream of holding that against him. Fourteen hours is a long time to think about someone you love being hurt; it’s a long time to wish you had been there with them in the first place. Afterall, Yuuri has been wishing that too. So, he knows exactly how that feels. He’s practically convinced himself that they should have taken the teenager with them to Japan in the first place. They have the space now, it was selfish to leave him behind. They could have avoided this altogether. Maybe. But maybe not, a rational part of Yuuri intervenes. Either way, the dark haired man still feels culpable.

Victor chooses that moment to look over at Yuuri apologetically, breaking his dead-end train of thought; the older man’s eyes pooled with unpasteurised emotion as he turns and taps on the door. He has a key for Yuri’s private room too, just like Yakov does, but he doesn’t pull it out; it remains where it always lies, in the dark belly of his wallet. The leopard print wallet was a gift that Yuri bought him years ago - it’s a wallet he always uses, despite having a love-hate relationship with animal prints, because it was a present and it’s so  _Yura_  that it makes him smile whenever he has to pay for anything.

They wait for a while, for what Yuuri is sure must seem like forever to Victor, but then the door is being peeled opened ever-so-slightly and Yuri is peering out at them both through the gap. His golden hair hanging across his face, strands of it sticking up all over the place. He looks like he’s just climbed out of bed. He probably has, Yuuri thinks - they’d received a text from Yakov half an hour ago, informing them that he’d left the teenager sleeping.

With a put-out sigh, Yuri fully opens the door of his dormitory. Letting the warm light of his room dazzle them in the darkened corridor.

‘Why are you all gross and red?’ The young russian bites out in disgust, eyeing Victor suspiciously, his mouth curled up in horror. ‘Katsudon, your boyfriend is sweating like a  _hog_.’

Yuuri offers the boy a wide smile, glad to hear him being his usual self, but Victor doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even seem to register the words. Instead, he steps into the room, abandons his bag to the mercy of the floor, and throws his arms around the teenager. His cheek pressing against the yellow meadow of Yuri’s messy hair, half-bent over as he clings to the young skater. Yuuri wants to do something, he feels like he  _has_  to do something, but they need this moment together. Victor and Yurio. They both need it too much. So, he stands in the doorway and he watches them silently. 

‘Yurochka,’ Victor says eventually, his voice full of unconstrained emotion, ‘I have missed you so much, my little kitten.’

‘Whatever, loser,’ Yuri spits harshly but Yuuri can see it, as plain as day, how the younger russian grips his lover tighter and closes his eyes. His whole face flooding with relief. He’s so glad that Victor is there for him, that Victor is holding onto him like he’ll never let him go again.

After a lengthy pause, Victor pulls back, holds Yuri at arms length - his palms placed carefully on the balls of the young man's shoulders. He's looking him over. He’s inspecting the damage. And it’s awful. Yuuri can see that much from his position at the door. To see someone, especially someone so young, bruised the way that Yuri is is enough to make anyone feel queasy. The proof of violence is stamped all across his pale skin. 

For starters, there’s an angry bruise smeared all across his left cheek - long, and wide, and blue. And Yuuri is almost certain that there's another one running down the right side of his jaw, but Yuri's golden hair is dangling in the way, making it too hard for him to be certain. 

Either way, both him and Victor can see the unmistakable vertical gash that runs down the centre of Yuri’s bottom lip. It looks painful. In fact, it looks so raw that Yuuri grimaces as he finally steps inside Yuri’s room and closes the door behind him. Drawn in by the warmth; desperate to escape the cold.

Once he’s lowered his bag down onto the floor, vaguely next to Victor’s, he lingers just behind his lover and says, ‘Hi, Yurio.’

He doesn’t get a reply. 

Instead, the boy seems to be locked in a battle of wills with Victor. Yuuri moves closer to Yuri, frowning as he turns back to look at Victor. The older russian has a heavy scowl plastered on his face, it’s so unchanging that it makes him look like a tempestuous statue. Fiercely beautiful but so out of place in Yuri’s modest dormitory. A wrathful angel towering imposingly in a teenager's bedroom.

Yuri shuffles uncomfortably under Victor’s unrelenting gaze, then he raises his bruised hands and starts to fiddle with the fabric of his hoodie. Yuuri watches the blonde’s slightly swollen fingers move and then he sees it too. Suddenly it's staring him right in the face. A well-defined, blue hand print wrapped around the teenager’s throat.

Yuuri takes an instinctive step forward - completely horrified - he’d failed to mention that over the phone. Yuri hadn't told them that one of his attackers had had his hands around his neck. He hadn’t told them that someone had squeezed his throat hard enough to leave a clearly defined hand print behind. It’s  _sickening_. It makes Yuuri feel ill. He can feel the bile burning up his throat as his eyes widen in alarm.

‘Oh, Yurio,’ he says automatically, reaching out to him. But he pulls his hand back before it makes contact.

The young russian shakes off Victor’s hands then. Moving quickly to zip his hoodie up. Eyes down. He's feeling overexposed. Naked somehow. But before he can get the zip up past his chest Yuuri has placed a stilling hand on his wrist. ‘It’s okay. You don't have to cover anything up. Not with us. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable, Yuri. It's just... that bruise is a hard thing to see on someone you love.’

Yuri seems to accept that, he seems to understand the honesty of the statement. So, he inclines his head in understanding. After all, he’d be upset too, if someone had laid their hands on Victor or Yuuri. He’d be angry, and scared, and confused. But Victor is staring too much, Yuri can feel his eyes and it’s really starting to freak him out. It’s making him feel weird and he doesn’t like it. 

‘What are you staring at, old man!’ Yuri shouts suddenly, glaring up at Victor, but his eyes lose all of their heat, all of their fire, as he watches a tear slip down the older man’s cheek.

Victor wipes the damp away, lets his woollen glove soak it up. Then he brings an open hand up and leans his face into it, hiding himself away from them as his shoulders start to shake. Yuri looks over at Yuuri with wide eyes. He’s scared, he’s never seen Victor like this before. Despite years of knowing one another, Victor has never let the young russian witness him fall apart, not like this. 

The japanese man smiles over at Yuri reassuringly, rubs a gentle hand down his arm. Telling him, without words, that it's okay. That he hasn't done anything wrong. That this isn’t his fault. Victor is just upset - because it  _is_  upsetting - because the fact that someone could do this to a person you love and you can't do a thing to stop it is terrifying.

‘Why don’t we all have a sit down?’ Yuuri says then, glancing at the worn out sofa he’s spotted over by the window. The snow is still falling outside. Yuri nods but waits until Yuuri is softly tugging Victor along with him before he takes a step in the right direction. 

Victor is still wiping at his eyes when Yuuri manoeuvres him onto the chair, pressing a soft kiss across his lover’s knuckles before he moves to let Yuri slip around him.

The young man sits down so close to Victor that their thighs are touching, but he doesn't move to create space, instead he reaches out and takes one of Victor’s hands in his.

‘I'm sorry, Vitya,’ he whispers, voice strained, ‘I didn't mean to make you cry.’

Victor seems to gather himself considerably then, although it takes him a while to breathe evenly and say, with any semblance of composure, ‘No, my love, you have done nothing wrong. Not a thing. I am just upset because you are hurt. Because I could do nothing to stop it.’

‘I'm okay,’ Yuri says evenly, smiling over at the man. And Yuuri falls in love with the boy even more than he already has. Because this is it, it's his gentle heart on display, and it’s breathtaking.

‘I know you are. You're such a strong boy, Yura,’ Victor says, before he sits up a little and adds, ‘And I didn't mean to cry. I know how much you hate the fuss.’

Yuri scoffs at that, renewed playfulness dancing in his eyes, Yuuri can see the mischief sparkle from where he stands in front of them. So, he’s nothing but amused when Yuri says, ‘I don’t hate this. I hate it when you’re embarrassing. Like when you kiss pork cutlet bowl and expect me not to puke my guts out.’ 

‘My little kitten, you always make me smile,’ Victor says, wrapping an arm around Yuri’s shoulder. Leaning in to kiss his hair.

‘Don’t be gross, old man,’ Yuri says but he’s moving closer, not away.

‘I’ll make us some tea,’ Yuuri says then, excusing himself with a smile. He doesn’t even know if Yuri keeps any tea in his room. And he has no idea where it would be if he does. He just wants to give them a moment alone. So, he goes off to the little corner-kitchen, where he finds the kettle and three mugs, all of them decorated with various big cats, and starts peering hopefully into randomly selected cupboards.

Part of Yuuri expects to come face-to-face with a lot of junk and snack foods - instant noodles, bars of chocolate, emergency packets of gummy sweets, that kind of thing. Because Yuri is still so young, and because that’s what Yuuri used to  _love_  to eat at any given opportunity, but he’s wrong, he’s spectacularly wrong.

In fact, Yuri’s cupboards are completely empty save for the odd sachet of protein powder and a small bag of unopened nuts. Yuuri knows that the skaters always eat their meals in the communal areas here, so he knows the boy’s not going hungry, but it's still a surprise somehow; that there’s not a jot of junk to find. But, then again, Yuuri supposes, Yurio  _is_  the most focused and ambitious skater he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting. So, it makes sense.

Yuuri is about to abandon his fruitless quest for tea when he opens a draw and finds a dozen little sachets of Belgian Hot Chocolate. He feels his insides rumble - he never could stomach eating on a plane - so, he decides, hot chocolate is a far better option than tea anyway. 

As he sets about making them a chocolatey mug each, he wonders where the closest supermarket is. He'll have to ask Yuri. Then, when he has five minutes to himself, he’ll go out and replenish Yuri’s supply. It’s the least he can do. Really. It looks like they'll be around for a while.

Once he’s made the hot drinks, Yuuri carries two of the steaming mugs towards the sofa, careful not to spill any of the molten liquid as he draws closer. Too scared to look up properly until he sees their feet - lest he trip over something or scald his hands raw.

When he does look up, Yuri is curled under Victor’s arm, the back of his head resting against the chest of the older man’s dark, woollen coat. Yuri looks content, completely unafraid. Victor is unconscious. Dead to the world. Snoring softly, peacefully, his face relaxed for the first time since Yuri had phoned them. 

The young skater smiles over at Yuuri and says, ‘You found my stash.’

‘I did,’ Yuuri grins, handing a mug across, spinning it around awkwardly so Yuri can grab the handle without burning his fingers. The older man only lets go when he’s sure the teenager has a good grip on it; he sees little point in going back for the third mug, so Yuuri sits down on the mat in front of the sofa, legs crossed, and blows across the hot surface of the chocolate.

They drink quietly for a while, happy to be silent with each other. Basking in the moment rather than feeling uncomfortable. And Yuuri is half way down his cup before the little russian clears his throat.

‘Victor told me something,’ Yuri says without any preamble, using a finger to slowly wipe chocolate off his cracked lips before he runs the digit carelessly across his jeans. ‘While you were busy in the corner.’

‘Something about what happened?’ Yuuri asks and the blonde hums quietly.

‘He told me that he was sorry for overreacting,  _again_. Which is stupid because I already told him not to be. But then he told me that he had been beaten very badly once, when he was seventeen, him and a friend. He told me that his friend didn’t make it. That he was killed. That he was murdered for being like us. For being attracted to men.’

Yuuri can feel his heart constricting in his chest, he’d noticed how stiff Victor had become yesterday at the mention of the boy Yurio had kissed. Now it made sense, the way he had shifted, the way he had veered in to listen. The way he had fallen apart afterwards, how rattled he was. He had been remembering as well as dealing with a wave of fresh panic the whole time. Probably too scared of burdening Yuuri to tell him exactly what was going on. Yuuri could kick himself. He should have said something, he should have asked.

‘So, you didn’t know then,’ Yuri says, taking in how pale his friend has become at the revelation.

‘No, I didn’t know. He’s never mentioned it. I had no idea,’ Yuuri says slowly, staring at the sleeping face of his lover.

‘Huh,’ Yuri scoffs in reply, his eyes rolling, ‘That’s so like him. Perfect Vitya. He only ever wants to share the good things. Look. You need to watch him, Katsudon. You need to take good care of him. I mean it. Don’t make me break your legs. Not now they’re finally skinny again.' 

‘I- I will. Of course I will, Yurio,’ Yuuri says, gripping his mug a little too tightly. His knuckles turning white.

‘I know. But I wanted to say it anyway. It’s important. And he loves you,’ Yuri says, leaning back against Victor before he continues, ‘Please, Yuuri, don’t tell him that I told you. I think it took a great deal from him to tell me that. And afterwards, as he held me, he just fell asleep. I think it is a very heavy thing for him.’

‘I won’t say anything, I promise. Thank you for telling me,’ Yuuri says solemnly, staring into his hot chocolate until Victor stirs and yawns loudly from his place on the sofa. Yuuri’s not sure how long they’ve been sitting there but his mug is stone cold.

Victor’s face looks a little different than it did earlier, at least to a highly trained eye - he’s still tired but he’s less strung out. Either from seeing Yuri or from telling Yuri what he’s been carrying around with him for a decade, or both. Probably both, Yuuri thinks. Wondering if it’d be inappropriate to just crawl over to his lover and kiss him. Probably, he decides, so he smiles over at him instead. Lest he incur the omnipotent wrath of Yuri.

‘Gross. Why are you drooling on me, old geezer!’ Yuri snaps and Victor smiles at him, ruffling his hair with a widespread hand.

‘You’re such a baby, Yurochka,’ Victor says lightly, reaching a hand out towards Yuuri. Yuuri shuffles over, so he can take his sleepy boyfriend’s hand in his. Then he presses it against his cheek and kisses his fingers. He knows Yurio sees it, he must, but he doesn’t say a word about it.

‘You look so beautiful, my love,’ Victor says, pausing briefly before he adds, ‘I think I forgot to tell you that today.’

‘It’s okay, we were both caught up thinking about, Yurio,’ Yuuri offers sincerely, kissing his lover’s hand again before he says, ‘It’s feels nice to be together.’

‘Yes,’ Victor agrees, smiling over at Yuri who scowls as soon as he realises he’s been caught smiling at them, ‘And now Yura and I will have time to really show you around the city. There are many things to see and do here. Lots of delicious new foods to try.’

‘I’d love that,’ Yuuri says, beaming up at Yuri, ‘Just the three of us together.’

‘Yura?’ Victor inquires, and the teenager lets out an indignant huff, ‘Yeah, okay. I  _suppose_  that could be cool. As long as you don’t get weird about it.’ 

‘Perfect, then tomorrow we will go out and eat until our bellies are big and fat,’ Victor concludes with a smiling yawn.

‘That won’t be a problem for pork cutlet bowl,’ Yuri says with a snort and Yuuri isn’t even offended. He’s almost thrilled to be insulted by his young friend.

‘ _Yura_ ,’ Victor says quietly, in a way that makes Yuri sigh dramatically and say, very sincerely, ‘Sorry, piggy.’


	3. venture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's their first morning in St. Petersburg and hugs and agape are on the menu for breakfast.

Initially, Yakov had offered them their own dorm room - just upstairs and less than a minute away from Yuri, for as long as they both needed it - but then he’d taken one look at Victor’s miserable face and relented, throwing his hands up in the air as he spat, ‘Fine. But you can carry the inflatable matress up from the car. It’s heavier than you think it is, Victor!’

The silver-haired man had smiled a brilliant smile at that, marching himself forwards before he kissed his old mentor loudly on the cheek. Yakov had tried to brush him off, of course he had, but Yuuri could tell that the coach didn’t really mind the overt affection - that much was obvious by the way he seemed to lean into it, regardless of his subtle protests. And it reminded Yuuri of something Victor had said to him once, before he’d had to fly back to Japan when Makkachin had been taken ill - ‘If you’re in trouble, just hug him and he’ll be there for you.’ That hadn’t made much sense to him at the time, it had seemed insane to Yuuri, that he could just throw his arms around the grumpy man without any negative consequence, but it didn't take long for the older man’s warmth to start peeking through, it didn’t take long for Yuuri to understand how fundamentally similar Yakov was to Yurio. Tough on the outside but considerably more vulnerable within. And, like their young friend, Yakov’s always so patient with Victor, it’s enthralling really, despite how vastly their personalities differ, because there’s an undeniable love between them, a thread of unwavering respect, and it makes Yuuri smile every time he sees it.

‘Thank you, thank you,  _thank you!_  You are a good man. A kind man, Yakov! _Спасибо_!’ Victor had beamed gratefully at his mentor, before he turned to face Yuuri - with those irresistible, hopefully eyes - and he asked, voice dripping like warm honey, ‘Will you help me carry it up the stairs, my love? I could use those strong legs of yours. I can trade you for kisses?’

So, that’s how they ended up sleeping in Yuri’s room, curled up on the floor together, covered in borrowed blankets, on an inflatable mattress that squeaked whenever they so much as dared to fill their lungs.

~*~*~*~

In the morning, Yuuri is the first to open his eyes, he’s always been an early riser - it’s an unshakable habit he’s had since his school years. Sometimes, he wishes he could sleep in, he wishes he could just wake up after nine or ten and not feel like his entire day was off to a bad start. But he can’t. And it isn’t so bad, not really, for one, he’s always loved watching the sun rise - he’s seen it happen thousands of times now. And each new time it's so beautiful, so inspiring, that he doubts he’ll ever grow tired of it, or the uncomplicated comfort that it offers him.

It almost goes without saying, but Yuuri is overjoyed when he realises he can watch the sun come up through Yuri’s window from his position on the floor, Victor pressed close against his back, his arm draped loosely across Yuuri’s waist, the russian’s gentle breathing another happy constant in his early morning routine. Yuuri’s not sure how he feels about God - or any omnipotent presence really - but, for him, watching the sunrise makes him feel like a small part of something so much bigger. It makes his chest ache. He knows that he's privileged to see something so exquisite and perpetual. For him, it's an incredible honour to bear witness to it. A simple but unforgettable gift from the universe at large.

Yuuri just lies there for a while, his socked feet mindlessly stroking back against Victor’s. He could have gotten himself up, he could have tried to organise their scrunched up clothes - which they'd liberated from their backpacks the night before but failed to hang up. But he doesn’t want to disturb Yuri. He doesn’t want to drag him out of his sleep any earlier than necessary. The teenger could do with the rest, his body could do with the rest. It has a lot to heal. And there’s no way that he’s not exhausted. The emotional toll alone must be nothing short of immense. So, instead of risking accidentally rousing the young blonde, Yuuri simply lies there, his cheek pressed against his warm pillow, and he watches as the faintest hints of butter-yellow and rich carmine start to seep into the dark inky sky.

Eventually, when the sky is still dark but the rooftops of various building start to glow like there’s a fire lit behind them, Yuri begins to stir. Yuuri’s facing the wrong way, so he can't see him but he can hear the quiet creak of bedsprings behind him. He can hear the young russian sit up and start looking for something. He can comprehend fabric being lifted, patted, then abandoned on the floor. He hears a yawn, a stretch, a small moan of discomfort.

There’s a moment's silence then, before the young blonde clears his throat softly and says, ‘Hello, grandpa. How are you today?’

Yuuri’s Russian is decidedly lackluster, he doesn't have a talented tongue like his lover, but he understands some of the words, enough to get the general gist of things anyway, and to understand that this morning call between Yuri and his grandfather is a regular occurrence.

He listens to his friend talk for a while, not really paying attention, just taking in the meandering rise and fall of his sleepy voice - the way each new word he utters seems to be so soft, and inviting, and decidedly  _not_  sarcastic. Yuuri can't stamp-out the small smile that twists his mouth, he thinks Nikolai may be the only adult Yuri treats with the expected definition of respect. It's clear that the teenager loves him deeply and that his grandpa - above all else - is the cornerstone of his understanding of agape.

Yuuri only starts listening properly again when his brain recognises Yuri telling the old man that he’s fine, that everything is perfect in St. Petersburg, that he’s feeling very happy. Because it’s a lie, it’s an absolutely astonishing mistruth, and Yuri delivers it flawlessly. That makes Yuuri’s heart speed up a little because what if Yurio has been hiding things from them too, like how badly he's hurt. Maybe he should ask him again, he probably should, a responsible person would insist that Yuri go and see a doctor. But then Yuuri remembers that Yuri’s grandpa has a weak heart, and a bad back, and that he’s going through a patch of general ill-health. He remembers that Yuri called him in the middle of the night for help. He hasn’t lied once. There's no reason to believe that he has. He's simply being kind. Besides, it’s not like the teenager is all alone, Victor and Yuuri are right there with him. They’re looking out for him. And they will be for as long as he can stand them cluttering up his space. Yuuri would stay forever if that’s what it took.

Yuuri goes back to listening the soft cadence of his young friend’s speech, he hears Yuri mention their names briefly but he doesn’t comprehend the context, he doesn’t even try to, he only knows that Yuri’s grandfather says something in return that makes the young russian laugh before he says, ‘I love you, grandpa. Today I will make you proud,’ and he hangs up the phone.

Afterwards, in the moments that follow, Yuuri feels contractually obliged to lie there silently; so the blonde boy doesn’t realise that he’s been listening in on his call all along. Not that he understood much, but that’s really not the point, is it? He wants to respect Yuri’s privacy. He wants to show him that he respects him as a person, as an individual. Now more than ever. So, even when he hears Yuri stand up and creep towards the dormitory door, he has to lie there and say nothing. He has to just let him go. Even though it’s hard.

Ten minutes. That’s about as much as Yuuri can handle. Then, when the youngster still hasn’t returned to his room, the japanese man slips out from under Victor’s arm and tucks the blankets close around his lover’s sleeping body. Pressing a loving kiss against his own fingers before he places them softly on his lover’s cheek. He wishes he could lie here for hours, hold him close, revel in the man who’s had his heart since he was little more than a boy. But he feels compelled to check on their young friend. Victor would understand. He'd do the same. And while Yuuri knows that Yuri doesn’t need babying, because he  _does_  know that rationally, this is his home after all, this is his world, he still can’t shake the image of that violent blue handprint pressed around his young throat. So, he sneaks out of the door too and heads down the chilly hallway.

Initially, he checks the bathroom but there’s no one in there, so he heads down to the communal living area instead. Yuri can’t have gone much farther than that, he’s not even dressed yet. Besides, it makes sense. When you wake up you eat breakfast. Sure, some people don’t but if you’re an athlete you wouldn’t dare  _not_  to. It’s too risky. And it’s much easier than getting lectured by your coach.

When he opens the door, Yuri spins around. Frying pan clutched tight in his hand. A scowl plastered on his face like he’s expecting to see another russian skater in the doorway. But, when he realises that it’s Yuuri, his face softens considerably and he turns, setting the pan down on the stove before he switches on the heat.

The thin strap of the yellow tank-top that Yuri wore to bed does very little to disguise the green bruise that almost covers the young man’s left shoulder entirely. Not to mention the small contusions smeared randomly down his arms that receive no coverage at all.

Yuuri hums at the unpleasant sight, he doesn’t quite let it turn into an unhappy groan, but Yuri inclines his head anyway. Still turned away, pouring a battery mixture into the frying pan as he says, with quiet determination, ‘I know it won’t stop you, it wouldn’t stop me if our places were traded, but you don’t have to worry about me, Katsudon.’

The blonde lowers the heat and turns to look at Yuuri, a smile stretching up to the corners of his mouth, his split lip looking like it could burst open at any moment as he grins, ‘Besides, worrying just makes your piggy face look redder and stupider than it already does.’

Yuuri smiles softly at that, feeling like he needs to explain himself, or at least try to, ‘I’m sorry. It’s just…’ He gestures vaguely up and down at the young man’s body.

‘I know,’ Yuri says evenly, because he understands, really he does, he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom earlier. ‘But now I’m healing.’

‘And we’re here to help you, every step of the way!’ Yuuri says with fixed resolution, though he sounds more like he’s dealing with a customer than with someone he loves. That makes the teenager huff out a laugh, watching with amusement as Yuuri frowns at himself before he adds, almost shyly, ‘Until you get sick and tired of us, that is. You should tell us when we’ve overstayed our welcome. No one will be upset.  _Really_. We’d hate to get in the way. We’re not here to smother you. Well, Victor might be, but that’s  _Victor_. But like I said, once you get sick of us...’

‘That’s not true,’ Yuri offers with a playful smile.

‘No?’ Yuuri smiles back, like it's contagious. He loves to see Yuri like this, so full of life. When he thinks about what happened, about how much  _worse_  it could have been… his attackers could have ended his career, they could have ended his  _life_. They could have taken  _everything_. They could’ve-

‘Pork cutlet bowl, I’ve been sick and tired of Vitya for years now and still he persists like a bad smell, stinking up my life,’ the teenager grins, though his smile diminishes a little when he sees how caught up in his own thoughts Yuuri is. How they make his eyes look sad and pathetic. He hates it; so he says, ‘I can tell you’re the same. Your odour is already everywhere.’

Yuuri nods, offering the boy a soft smile in return for the backhanded compliment. Yuuri’s not going anywhere. He doesn’t know much about Yuri’s personal life. But it’s been made abundantly clear to him that his mother and father never deserved a child, let alone a child like Yuri. Someone so beautiful, so strong, so determined, so focused, so giving. A sudden surge of protectiveness rushes through his body, from his head down to his toes; so, Yuuri can’t help it when he reaches out instinctively, and says, ‘Can I… can I hug you, Yurio? You can say no. Of course you can. It’s okay. I just, I’d really-’

Yuri rolls his eyes at that, then he takes his pan off the heat and takes a step closer to his friend, wrapping his arms firmly around his middle. Yuuri places two gentle hands on the young russian’s back, he doesn’t want to hurt him, so he lets his own middle be squeezed tightly instead. He lets the young man lay his head on his chest, and he lets him linger there without expectation.

‘Listen, I know that I haven’t known you for long, not compared to Victor, or Yakov, or any number of the people that you know here. But I just want you to know that I’ll always be here for you. I promise. I’ll  _always_  be here. And if you ever need anything. And I mean  _anything_  at all, Yuri. Then I want you to find me, or call me, or text me. Like you did this time. Night or day. Okay? It’s never inconvenient. It never could be. I care about you so much. About your life, and your health, and your happiness. I love you, Yurio. And I’m not going anywhere. And neither is Victor. So, I guess, you’re right about that. If he’s a bad smell, stinking up your life, then I am too.’

When Yuri looks up, his face is flushed and serious, he nods once before he presses his forehead back against Yuuri’s shoulder and he all but whispers, into the fabric of his friend’s t-shirt, ‘Thank you, Yuuri.’

~*~*~*~

As soon as they step outside of the building they have a problem. To be precise, they have two. Although the first is meaningless in the scheme of things that truly matter. It’s just that it’s freezing, absolutely freezing, and as soon as the Baltic wind hits him Yuuri feels like his heart’s going to stop. It gives the Titanic startling new realism. There’s not enough layers in the world to keep the chill off his shivering bones. It’s almost  _too much_. What makes it worse is the fact that he’s the only one whose teeth are chattering, he’s the only one whose body seems to convulse spontaneously, and Yuuri’s paranoid that he’s going to bite his own tongue clean off if he so much as utters a misplaced syllable.

But far more important - far more pressing - is the fact that Yurio is stuck by the main door. As if he’s frozen where he stands like an angry ice-statue.

Victor and Yuuri can both see how hard the teenager tries to force his legs to move, his teeth gritted in a painfully tight grimace, but this is the first time he’s been outside since he was beaten. They really should have anticipated something like this. In fact, Yuuri is almost ashamed that it hadn't even crossed his mind. He takes a step closer, seeking closeness, but he stays on the pavement, he doesn’t want to crowd Yuri and make him feel more anxious than he already is. Yuuri knows that feeling, he won’t perpetuate it in someone he cares about. Plus, Victor is right there beside him. Victor who is so kind, and warm, and unashamedly open.

The older russian glances over his shoulder, back at Yuuri, hesitation lingering in his uncharacteristically nervous eyes. Then he turns back to the blonde, takes the boy’s hand in his, and says, ‘It helped me to hold on to someone.’

Yuri’s head snaps up at that, he glances quickly at Yuuri, who stands a few paces beyond Victor’s shoulder like a surprised popsicle. Then he stares up at Victor with wide eyes - suddenly guilty that his stupid feet and brain are forcing Victor to share things that make him uncomfortable. He frowns darkly, Victor squeezes his hand supportively.

‘Just hold onto me, Yurochka,’ Victor smiles sadly, like he hasn’t just dropped a bombshell on his lover, ‘No one can hurt you while I’m here, you understand? Yuuri and I, we’d never let anything bad happen to you. I know that it’s scary, but if you let us help you, it will be better so much faster.  _Trust me_ , Yura.’

Yuri squeezes Victor’s hand back at that, he trusts him, of course he trusts him, besides his grandpa and Yakov, Victor is the person he trusts most in the world not to hurt him, not to mislead him, not to lie to him about something like this. So, Yuri breathes deeply and then he takes a step, a tiny step, out onto the snow covered pavement.

‘That’s it!’ Victor says with all the excitement of a child as he beams at his young friend.

‘This is so  _stupid_ ,’ Yuri snaps, as he struggles to progress any further, despite Victor’s vice-grip on his hand. He lets out a frustrated cry.  _Come on!_

‘No, my little kitten, it’s okay. It’s not stupid. This happened to me too, so I know all about it, okay? This isn’t stupid, it’s just your body trying to protect you from harm, which is a very good thing, Yura,’ Victor says sincerely and Yuri hates the way his eyes start to fill up. The last thing he wants is to start crying.

‘Your boyfriend’s probably going to freeze to death waiting for me. Maybe you should just go without me,’ The blonde offers with far too much underlying emotion for it to sound convincingly casual. He tries to pull his hand away for emphasis but Victor doesn’t let him.

Instead, he moves to stand in front of the anxious teenager, their hands still joined, blocking Yuri’s view of the outside world. He wants him to focus. None of the rest matters. Yuuri’s still standing a few feet away, trying not to intrude, when he hears Victor say, ‘If you don’t want to do this today, Yura. If this is honestly going to hurt you, then we’ll all go back inside together, we can try again another time. Okay? There’s no rush. If this is too much then it’s too much. We can only force ourselves so far. What’s more important is that you’re okay.’

Yuri scowls and says, almost too quietly, ‘I don’t think I can make it all the way to the food markets.’

‘That’s okay,’ Victor says, using his free hand to sweep golden strands of hair out of Yuri’s eyes. ‘How far do you think you can go right now? Remember, I am right here, so is Yuuri. We care about you so much, and we don’t want anything from you but what you can give.’

‘I- I don’t know,’ Yuri says hesitantly, honestly, his cheeks starting to glow, it’s embarrassing. He tries to think of places but his mind starts reeling, everywhere seems too far.

‘There’s no wrong answer, Yurochka,’ Victor says softly, eyes firm, and the proceeding silence that lingers between the two russian’s is only broken when Yuuri walks towards them and clears his throat.

‘How about the little supermarket, you said it’s only two streets away, I could make us some food, if you’d like?’ The Japanese man offers, his teeth still chattering, though nowhere near as harshly as they were. His brain seems to have more important things to dwell on at the moment.

‘Would you make pork cutlet bowls for us?’ Yuri asks then, suddenly hopeful.

‘If you want me to, of course I will, Yurio,’ Yuuri confirms, and when he looks over at Victor there’s such a warm smile on his lover's face that his own cheeks start flushing.

‘Okay, we can try the supermarket,’ Yuri says, decided, and Victor leans down to plant a kiss in his hair. Pride swelling in his chest. He's so proud of Yuri’s strength, of his grace.

‘That sounds perfect,’ The older man says with an encouraging smile, moving back to his original position at Yuri’s side. The teenager takes a few steps, then a few more, only hesitating when he realises he’s too far out to run back inside at a moment’s notice, but Yuuri slips and arm around his back then and it makes him feel like he can do it. So, he does. Even if it’s scary.

Because he trusts Victor and Yuuri to take care of him.

Because he doesn't want to be afraid forever.


	4. constant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hair braiding, revelations, and the boy Yuri kissed.

Yuri is sat on the floor in front of his bed, his legs folded neatly beneath him, his perfect posture on display, Lilia Baranovskaya has done him a world of good. Instead of being in his hands, where it so often is, the teenager’s phone lies abandoned on the floor beside him. Soft flourishes of _Stammi Vicino_ pouring out of it, filling his otherwise silent dormitory with ripples of sound. Three bowls, now devoid of their pork cutlets, lie forgotten on the young russian’s cluttered bedside table. Almost lost amongst rolls of multi-coloured kinesiology tape, yellow hair elastics, and a stack of russian flag notebooks.

Yuuri is stretched out on top of the young russian’s bed, positioned on his side, an idle hand running lazily up and down his lover’s straight back. Victor hums softly in appreciation, perched on the edge of the mattress, his graceful hands working rhythmically and nimbly. Twisting strands of Yuri’s golden hair into a perfect, tight braid. A hair elastic gripped firmly between his teeth. He pulls it open with his long fingers, twists it around the hair clutched in his full hand, and ties the yellow strands together. It looks perfect, Yuuri thinks, like everything Victor pours his soul into.

Yuuri considers his lover then, he seems so pleased with himself, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, happy with a job well done, as he runs his fingers purposely down the golden tail of Yuri’s hair. He wonders if they’ll all seperate now - now that their excuse for closeness has reached its natural conclusion. For Yuuri realises, just as Victor must - one hand resting on his own thigh, the other idylly lifting fallen strands of hair from the young russian’s shoulders - that it’s up to Yuri, what happens next. If he moves, they’ll move. If he stays, they’ll stay. Whatever he needs from them, they’ll give it to him. Whatever he needs them to do, they’ll do it for him. That is, after all, what a family does. And damn it, it Yurio hasn’t etched himself onto Yuuri’s beating heart forever.

The youngster shuffles backwards, so his shoulders are pressed against the side of his bed, leaning his head back, far enough that he can smile up at Victor from his position between his legs. Yuuri watches them with a full heart. Wearing a broad smile of his own as Victor smiles down at the blonde and raises a careful hand, running a gentle thumb across the blue bruise that mars his cheek.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Victor says easily, honestly, voice full of paternal affection, and Yuri rolls his eyes - it’s an odd gesture when seen upside down, but it holds no reproach. Yuuri doubts the teenager has ever been truly mad at Victor. Even when he’s frustrating, even when you disagree with him, it’s hard to make it last, he’s just too... _Victor_.

‘I’ve missed you doing my hair,’ Yuri offers freely, unabashed, tilting his head to the side so he traps Victor’s resting hand between his bruised cheek and the older russian’s thigh. ‘Mila can’t do it tight enough. Lilia is away. And Yakov does it way too tight.’

Victor laughs, it’s a knowing kind of scoff.

‘I’m almost certain it was Yakov’s rough hands that thinned out my beautiful hair,’ Victor offers fondly and Yuuri tries to imagine it. He tries to picture Yakov scraping back Victor’s hair when it was so long it ached for braiding. He wonders if their old mentor scowled as he did it - no, as he _does_ it because he must still do it for Yuri on occasion. Yuuri laughs at the thought, at the mis-matched image cementing itself in his mind. Of Yakov twisting delicate, beautiful braids into his skaters’ hair. He really is turning out to be nothing that he appeared to be.

Victor turns to his lover, to his quiet laughter, his long neck strained, a cautious smile pressed on his lips as he says, ‘Yuuri, my love, are you mocking my thinning hair again?’

‘What? NO!’ Yuuri spits quickly, scrambling to sit upright; slipping back down onto Yuri’s pillows in his flustered haste, ‘Your hair is beautiful, _so beautiful_ , I’m so sorry that I _ever_ -’

Wait. Victor is laughing. And Yuri is grinning over in his direction, a hand clutching Victor’s knee tightly as he twists his body to watch the japanese man sweat. Yuuri’s cheeks burn. Victor is teasing him. Of course he is. It’s Victor.

‘Really though, what’s making you smile so fondly?’ Victor questions warmly, his eyes sparkling so brightly in the mid-afternoon light.

Yuuri shrugs in reply, trying to regain his wilted composure, lying himself flat against the pillows again before he says, ‘I was just picturing Yakov braiding your hair. Imagining his face. His hands. It seems so… _odd_.’

‘You should grow your hair out, my love,’ Victor offers with a thoughtful hum, turning to look down at Yuri for a moment, to relieve the strain of his neck. ‘Then you could get him to do it for you. You could see it for yourself. You could feel it for yourself - the damage those harsh hands can do to good hair.’

‘I don’t think I..’ Yuuri starts awkwardly, his cheeks still flushed from earlier. ‘I’m not sure that it would suit me, long hair, I mean. I don’t have your face, or Yurio’s poise. I don’t have the right… I’m just not..’

‘ _Please_ ,’ Yuri snorts, resting his head back on Victor’s thigh, back on his hand. ‘You really need to get yourself a new mirror, Katsudon.’

‘ _What_?’ Yuuri asks, half sitting up in confusion.

‘What do you mean ‘what’?’ Yuri scoffs up from the floor, still looking forward. ‘We didn’t all have pre-teen crushes on the great Victor Nikiforov, you know.’

‘You- you mean... you… me… I...’ Yuuri stutters, brown eyes growing wide at the unspoken revelation. He glances over at Victor who’s grinning right back at him, a winning smirk toying at the corners of his happy mouth. He knew about this? That shouldn’t surprise him, really it shouldn’t. Yuuri supposes Victor and Yuri know almost everything there is to know about one another. But still, somehow, this seems different.

‘Look, piggy, I’m not saying it was my _greatest_ moment or anything - I was young and impressionable. But it changes nothing. It was still _you_ I had a poster of on my bedroom wall, not this moron,’ Yuri offers easily, shifting to sit up straight; turning to push a playful hand against Victor’s firm chest. The teenager’s own cheeks tinged with blooms of pink as he continues, ‘If anything, you’re to blame for this mess, Katsudon. You got me into this. The way you moved, the way to spoke, the way you always flushed whenever people had their eyes on you. It was... it was kind of, damn it... it was _cute_. Okay?’

Yuuri’s mind is genuinely struggling to keep up. It’s absolutely reeling, if he’s being honest. All he can think about now is a tiny - still angry - version of Yurio lovingly pinning a photograph of his face onto his bedroom wall. Never in a million years, never in a _million million_ years, would he ever have known that. He looks down at the scowling teenager, he feels like he needs to say _something_ but he has no idea what. He’d been... what had he been? A small part of Yurio’s understanding of his sexuality? Of his sexual awakening? Yuuri frowns deeply at himself, wondering if this is how Victor feels, knowing he was the same thing for Yuuri. It’s an odd feeling, but it’s not unpleasant; he’s just never seen himself as _attractive_. At least, not in that sense. Don’t get him wrong, Victor has helped him learn how to feel sexy, how to feel beautiful, but back then, when he was so young and riddled with so much panic, how could that have been attractive? Could that have been attractive? It must have been, at least to Yurio, he must have seen something in Yuuri to admire. After all, his young friend has no reason to lie about this. Not now that they know each other so well, not now there’s some kind of love blossoming between them so beautifully.

‘I… I… I...’ Yuuri stutters out and Yuri groans dramatically.

The teenager glowers up at Victor from his position on the floor, but the older russian seems too pleased with himself to speak, so the blonde spits out instead, ‘Vitya, your boyfriend is malfunctioning again.’

‘He cannot believe his ears. You’ve destroyed him with your affection, my little kitten,’ Victor laughs brightly then and Yuuri tries to focus. It feels surreal, like an absurdist dream, like an abstract nightmare. Yuri huffs and takes an impatient breath.

‘Look, Katsudon, I’m over it. _Way over it_. So don’t get any funny ideas about it or anything,’ Yuri snaps quickly, almost defensive as he continues, ‘Sure, it was cute when I was seven... but seeing you flush all the time is so _stupid_ now. You always act like you’re an ogre or something and it’s _annoying_. Because let me tell you something, piggy - and you better be listening closely because I’m never saying this again - I know you and I know Vitya and you’re a hundred times cooler than him, a hundred times hotter. And I’m not the only one who thinks it. Really, you should probably book yourself in to get your eyes checked again or something...’

There’s a small pause then before Yuri says, with a weighty sigh, ‘And if you _ever_ mention any of this, ever again, I’ll kill you. Got it, pork cutlet?’

‘I.. yeah. I’ve got it.’ Yuuri says quietly, still in shock, he glances over at Victor who has tears of laughter rolling down his cheeks, then he smiles weakly down at the teenager. ‘Thank you, Yuri. No one’s ever told me anything like that before. So, thank you.’

‘ _Whatever_ ,’ Yuri says harshly before he pushes himself up off the floor, bumping his leg purposefully into Victor’s as his phone beeps. The blonde boy glances down at it and freezes.

‘Yura?’ Victor says quickly, serious as soon as the teenager’s face switches from loving disgust to barely smothered panic. ‘What is it?’  
  
Yuuri watches with deepening concern as Victor looks down at the phone, as his lover picks it up off the floor and holds it in his hand. The silver-haired russian staring at Yuri for a moment before he looks down at it. Yuuri knows, had Yuri told him not to, he’d never have read the message, he would have left it alone. But his silence allows Victor to look at the text and tilt his head in consideration. And how quickly the mood has changed.

‘This is him?’ Victor asks softly, a hand reaching out to tug at the sleeve of the teenager’s hoodie. ‘This ‘Pasha’ is the other boy. The boy you kissed?’

Yuri nods once, his lip caught between his teeth, he bites down and his split lip splits itself open once more, a small snake of blood slithering down onto his chin. Victor stands up quickly, abandons the phone on the bed. Tugging Yuri over to the corner kitchenette. Running a tap, dampening the corner of a clean teatowel before he starts wiping at Yuri’s chin, eventually holding the cloth against the wound. They stand there for a while, one of Victor’s hands holding the teatowel, the other softly cupping the back of the young russian’s head. Yuri has a vice-grip on one of Victor’s wrists. Yuuri glances over at the forgotten phone but he doesn’t read the message, even though the screen is still illuminated. He hasn’t been given permission to look. Focusing instead on the two russians, ready in case he’s needed for anything. For anything at all.

Ten minutes of silence must pass before Victor peels the cloth away and Yuri grimaces at the change of pressure. Thankfully, the blood has clotted - Yuuri can see that from his position on the bed - so Victor abandons the towel and cups the teenager’s face in his hands.

‘Yes?’ Victor asks quietly.

Yuri nods decidedly, _yes_. Then the youngster reaches up, almost touches his own lip, before he changes his mind and nods again, his face caught in a frown, ‘Sorry, Vitya. I didn’t mean to bleed all over you.’

‘No, my little kitten,’ Victor returns swiftly, with a soft smile, ignoring the tiny drops of blood on the sleeve of his best, comfy sweater. ‘It’s perfectly okay.’

‘What did it say?’ Yuri asks, after a small pause, loud enough that Yuuri doesn’t feel like he’s intruding on their conversation just by being in the room.

‘He’s worried about you, he says you haven’t text him back,’ Victor conveys, free of any judgement. Yuri hums, because it’s not a lie, then he glances over at Yuuri, catches his eye, and offers him an apologetic smile. Like he owes his friend an apology for constantly falling apart over this. The japanese skater tilts his head, offers him a small smile of his own, hoping that the teenager understands that he’s not - that he never could be - some kind of burden.

‘I didn’t know how to tell him about this,’ the teenager confesses quietly, gesturing at his bruised body. ‘And part of me was so _mad_ at him afterwards. And it’s stupid and it’s _selfish_ but I was… I was so annoyed that it was _me_. I was upset that I was alone, that he… that he didn’t just _know_ what had happened without me having to say it. And I know that’s stupid, Vitya. I know that’s horrible. Especially…’ The wide-eyed blonde boy shoots Yuuri a quick look before he continues cautiously, encouraged by Victor squeezing his hand, ‘Especially since you told me what happened to you and your friend. God, I’m a terrible person, Victor. I know I am. But I was so _mad_ at him. And then I was just.. I was just so _upset_. Because it hurt so much and I’m scared so often. And I don’t know what to say to him... or how to explain it. Or how to not feel bad about it.’

Victor pulls Yuri straight into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around the young russian’s ribs. Only relenting when Yuri hisses in pain and to say, his voice full of conviction, ‘I’ll repeat it until the day I die, Yura. You are _not_ a bad person, you are not _terrible_ for thinking this way. It’s okay to be angry, to be mad, to be upset that this has happened to you. I’m mad, I’m angry, I’m upset. Yuuri is too. And it’s not _bad_ to wish that you had not been alone...’

A sob shakes itself out of Yuri’s body then and Yuuri watches in horror from his position on the bed. He watches as Victor pulls back a little and pauses - waiting until Yuri can’t stop himself from looking up - until their eyes meet and he continues on, determined.

‘For all the world, I would have been there if I could have been there, Yura. If I could have taken those punches in your place I would have. Of course I would have. I would do anything for you. _Anything_. I would have stayed by your side, regardless of the rest. Regardless of what has happened to me in the past. Regardless of the cost. But I wasn’t there, I wasn’t with you, you were all alone... and I’m so _sorry_ for that, my love. I’m so sorry.’ As Victor’s voice wavers, Yuuri pulls his legs up to his chest and presses his hand over his mouth. Warm tears still sliding freely down the blonde teenager’s cheeks.

‘ _Vitya_ ,’ Yuri says quietly and Victor shushes him.

‘We will talk to him, to your Pasha, okay?’ Victor says eventually, with a small watery smile, and Yuri nods. Rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. ‘We will let him know that you have not forgotten about him.’

Victor leads Yuri over to the bed then and he sits down next to Yuuri without instruction, the japanese man barely prepared before Yuri is pressing his face into his shoulder. Heat coming off him in waves.

‘Yura,’ Victor says, holding Yuri’s phone in his hand, ‘Perhaps.. perhaps it would be better to call him. This is a very serious thing to say by text.’

‘I can’t,’ Yuri says quickly, shaking his head. ‘I can’t, I’m sorry Vitya.’

‘No. _No_ , it’s okay. That’s okay. If… if you would prefer it, I could talk to him for you?’ Victor offers and Yuuri can see how this is twisting him up. How it’s dredging up the past. How he’s pushing himself to be there for Yuri. The teenager nods hesitantly and watches, just like Yuuri does, as the silver-haired man walks over to the window, looking out at the flurry of snow that whirls past before he presses the phone against his ear. Yuuri listens in but - once again - his understanding of the russian language only allows him to understand basic snippets of the undeniably heavy conversation.

‘Hello, is this Pasha? Good afternoon, my name is Victor, I’m a friend of Yuri’s. No. No, he’s okay,’ That’s all Yuuri comprehends with certainty, but the way Victor’s body stiffens, the way he tilts his head, the way his hums down the phone, the way he pinches the bridge of his nose, allows Yuuri to understand everything he’ll ever need to know. He can see the conversation taking its toll, he can see how it seems to drain the energy right out of his lover. And all Yuuri wants to do is hold him, all he wants to do is wrap Victor up in his arms and promise him that brighter days are coming.

‘Yes, yes,’ Victor agrees, turning to look at them with damp eyes, before he draws closer, covering the bottom half of the phone as he says, ‘He wants to speak to you, Yura. Is that okay? If not, just shake your head and it’ll be okay. He’s a nice boy.’

Yuri hesitates, then he reaches out a hand and Victor hands the phone across. The teenager is still leaning against Yuuri as he says, his voice hoarse and raw, ‘Hello? Pasha?’

Thankfully, Yuri doesn’t say much after that, so Yuuri doesn’t have to worry continually about his young friend’s lip splitting itself wide-open again. Instead, Pasha seems happy to talk without answer. The stiffness of Yuri’s body slowly easing off until eventually, he smiles, says goodbye, and holds the phone out to Victor again. Victor takes it and talks to Pasha for a while, hanging up before using Yuri’s phone to send a quick message.

‘I’ve sent Pasha my number,’ Victor explains and he looks tired again, that’s what Yuuri thinks, as he sits down next to Yuri, slipping an arm across his shoulders. He looks so tired. ‘Just incase you ever need me and you can’t phone or text. He’s very polite, Yura. I’m surprised you haven’t scared him off.’

‘I tried to,’ Yuri offers with a gentle smile, a smile Victor returns without missing a beat. ‘But he’s like you two. He doesn't know when to quit.’

‘Well, we’re not in the business of quitting,’ Victor offers promptly. ‘Quitters don’t win gold medals.’

‘Not that Katsudon would know _anything_ about that,’ Yuri teases reflexively, without any bite, and Yuuri bumps their shoulders together gently.

‘I’m hurt, Yuri, I thought you loved me the most,’ Yuuri grins and the teenager groans.

‘Vitya, stop him.’ Victor just smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, it's time for Victor to talk about his own past.
> 
> Also, if there are any artists reading this. I'd love to see Yakov braiding some hair! :D


	5. pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a little Victuuri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments on the last chapter were wonderful! Thank you! I really hope you all like this part. <3

It’s a little after ten and Yuri is fast asleep -  a bare arm hanging off the edge of his bed, an unbruised cheek pressed comfortably against two plump pillows. He’s a picture of peaceful repose, asleep like a child, his brow free of worry and stress. The teenager’s breathing is rhythmic and soft, constant and unvaried. Yuuri and Victor have been listening to it for a while now and it’s reassuring, at least, it reassures Yuuri tremendously. Allowing him to expel some of the rigid tension that’s been dwelling in his shoulders.

Almost as soon as the blonde had climbed into his bed he’d drifted off. One moment, he’d been laughing with Yuuri about something Otabek - or ‘Beka’ as Yuri always called him - had posted on his Instagram page; the next, he’d been unconscious - his phone still clutched in his hand, the Kazakh’s photo feed still beaming out at them in the semi-darkness. With tremendous care, Yuuri had proceeded to peel the phone from his friend’s curled fingers, plugging it in to charge before he moved back towards the sleeping skater, pulling his covers up and over his tired body. Lingering just long enough to press an affectionate kiss against his own fingers before laying them briefly on Yuri’s covered chest. Smiling down at the boy as he whispered, ‘Sweet dreams, Yurio. May tomorrow be a kinder day.’

Now, Yuuri and Victor are curled up together on their borrowed mattress, cosy beneath a veritable mountain of blankets. The russian has his arm wrapped around his lover’s soft body - as he does every night. It’s a familiar gesture of love that they both revel in but instead of being comforting, like it usually is, it’s extremely _worrying_. The older man is far too stiff for Yuuri’s liking, his body is far too tight, and the tension is absolutely pouring out of him in waves. They can’t sleep like this. Yuuri can’t sleep like this. Not when Victor has him so worried. Not when Victor is so uncomfortable. He can’t ignore it, he won’t, he _couldn’t._ Not even if he wanted to.

They lie there in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts, until Yuuri can’t stand it any longer and he rolls over. Pushing strands of stray hair away from his lover’s taut face, his lips pressed together in a tight, narrow line. The streetlights outside illuminating them just enough; so Yuuri can make out the exhaustion that haunts his partner’s eyes like a lamenting spirit. He abhors seeing Victor like this, he hates to see him so wounded, it feels like someone’s jamming a hot blade straight into his chest. Again, and again. And it feels like it could kill him.

‘What’s going on?’ Yuuri asks gently, deliberately, as he tries to smother his rising anxiety. Moving so their knees bump together, a little cove of warmth gaping between their bodies. A little space that they can pour their hearts into and keep them safe from harm.

‘You haven’t asked me yet,’ Victor offers eventually, far too quietly, even though they’re actively _trying_ to be quiet, the hesitation heavy in his voice. Victor doesn’t sound like himself. He sounds so unsure that it makes Yuuri grimace, and he loathes having any part in it.

‘Asked you what? What haven’t I asked you?’ Yuuri presses cautiously, so there's enough room for his lover not to answer him and not feel bad about it afterwards. The dark-haired man resting a comforting hand on the russian’s hip.  Aware that touch has always helped him.

‘About what happened to me before… back when I was a boy,’ Victor whispers after a weighty pause, his voice brimming with barely constrained emotion.

Yuuri nods, his hopeful expression faltering spectacularly. He knew they’d have to talk about it eventually. There have been too many allusions to it now - to what Yuuri has been mentally referring to as the ‘incident’ since Yurio first told him - there’s been too many intimations for anyone to ignore. To forget. To wish away. But Victor doesn’t owe him anything, not a thing, and Yuuri needs to make that clear. He _has_ to. He moves his hand to his lover’s arm. 

‘I won’t force you to talk about it. I know you, I trust you, I _love_ you, Victor. If you want to tell me then you can, of course you can. I’m not going anywhere. Not ever. I hope you know that. I hope you believe that. But I understand that it’s hard - what with Yuri and everything else going on here - so I’m not _expecting_ anything from you. You don’t owe me anything. You really don’t. And I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Not with me. Not because of me. Not about all of this. When the time comes, if it _ever_ comes, you know I’ll be here for you. And it’s okay if the right time isn’t now, or this week, or this year, or ever.’ Yuuri says honestly, his voice full of quiet conviction, hoping that Victor understands what he’s saying, what he’s really saying.

‘I know. I do know that. I _do_ ,’ Victor says with a strained smile, his voice a little too high, as he runs a grateful hand along Yuuri’s side. His long fingers trembling. ‘That’s why I feel so awful about it, my love.’

‘ _Vitya._ Why do you feel awful?’ Yuuri asks sincerely, a lump forming in his throat, his eyes wide in the dark. Searching for understanding, for meaning, for a scrap of something he can use to try and make his lover feel even an ounce better. He can barely stand this, it’s so painful.

‘I feel awful because even though I love you, even though you are my whole heart, I still can’t talk about it. Not yet. And that makes me feel bad, like I’m lying to you by omission,’ Victor confesses quietly, like they’re in the heart of a church on their knees. Wrapped up in sacrosanct truths that can only be spoken once and never repeated.

‘You’re _not_ lying. Please, don’t think that. I don’t think that. And I may not know everything but I know _enough_. I know more than enough. I know that you were hurt… that you were hurt very badly... I know that your friend... that your friend… that he...’ Victor’s eyes grow wide in the dark. Yuuri doesn’t have to finish that sentence. They both know how it ends.

‘Yura told you?’ The russian asks in a halting breath, surprise ravaging his features, and Yuuri’s face falls, his heart plummeting down into the blackening pit of his stomach. He’d promised Yuri he wouldn’t say anything, he’d _promised_ him that and then he’d done it anyway.

‘Please, don’t be mad at him. He was worried about you, he was just scared, Victor. Please, don’t be mad. Not with him.  He loves you so much,’ the dark-haired man explains in a hurry, his head spinning, tears swelling in his eyes all of a sudden. He feels like he needs to explain, he feels like he needs to do a little damage control, he doesn’t want this going back to Yuri. But Victor is shaking his head. Yuuri looks at him, _really_ looks at him. He’s not mad, he’s not angry. If anything, he looks… _relieved_. He looks grateful. The same emotions rush through Yuuri for a moment, making his heart flutter in his chest. But it doesn’t last. They’re nowhere near done.

‘I shouldn’t have said anything, I know I shouldn’t have. It was too much, he’s so young, he’s too young -’ Victor begins earnestly, apologetically - with the twisted expression of a guilty man.

‘You were only a year older than him when it happened to you, Victor,’ Yuuri says reasonably and Victor hums lowly, like he doesn’t quite agree, the line of his mouth tight once more.

‘I just wanted to explain it to him. I _needed_ to explain why I was so upset about it,’ Victor offers shakily and Yuuri squeezes his lover’s arm. He’s done nothing wrong, he needs to know that. He doesn’t have to be rainbows and kittens all the time. Victor’s allowed to talk about bad things. He’s allowed to be upset. He’s allowed to be mad. Yuuri loves all of him, absolutely, completely, entirely. So, Victor doesn’t have to pretend to be okay when he’s so obviously not. He doesn’t have to pretend _at all_.

‘It’s okay,’ the japanese man says softly, his voice serious but filled with warmth, ‘He understands. He’s a good boy. And you’re helping him so much. Your strength is giving him so much.’

‘I don’t feel strong,’ Victor confesses sadly, his eyes starting to shine in the semi-darkness that surrounds them. ‘I feel like any moment now I’m going to fall apart at the seams. I feel like I’m going to unravel. And I don’t know if I can put myself back together again. It takes such a long time, Yuuri. It took _such_ a long time...’

‘Oh, Victor,’ Yuuri says, voice full of raw emotion as he strokes his lover’s face. ‘How can we make this better for you? Even just a little. Please, let me help you. Please, let me do something. Because if you unravel… then I’ll unravel too. And I don’t want that. I don’t want that to happen to us. I love you so much.’

‘I...’ Victor begins, a single tear sliding down his cheek as he glances across the room.

‘What can we do?’ Yuuri asks again, so gently, and Victor shakes his head this time, hot tears finally spilling out of his eyes. He looks so young, he looks so much like Yuri in that moment that Yuuri glances over his lover’s body to check on the sleeping teenager. To make sure he’s still okay. To make sure that he’s still there.

‘I...’ Victor tries again, wiping the back of his hand across his cheeks, drawing on all of his courage to whisper. ‘Please, don’t be mad at me.’

‘I’m not mad at you, why would I be mad at you?’ Yuuri asks in muted surprise. ‘What do you need? Whatever it is, it’s okay. If something can help you feel a little better, then you should do it. I want you to do it, Victor. It’s breaking my heart to see you like this.’

‘I think I need… I think… I think I need to phone someone,’ Victor offers eventually, his eyes cast down. Yuuri nods, that doesn't seem too bad. ‘But I don’t want you to think that they matter to me more than you do. It’s not like that. It could _never_ be like that.’

‘You know I wouldn’t think that, not about this,’ Yuuri says quickly, his heart racing. ‘Shall I get your phone for you?’

‘No... I can do it, I’m sorry,’ Victor says, barely audible, even in the silence. Sitting up before he crawls down their squeaking mattress, exposing Yuuri’s body to the air as he goes. The russian grabs his phone from where it’s charging by the wall. The bright screen almost blinding him, but Victor holds it away from his face, slides down the brightness, and opens up his contacts. Moving back to his warm spot, right beside the man he loves. He feels so lucky, he feels so _blessed._ But the guilt is still eating him alive, he’s still ashamed. He’s still filled with remorse. Why can’t he just be open with the person he loves most in the world?

‘Shall I… should I go outside for a while?’ Yuuri asks easily, ready to push himself up and slip outside for as long as it takes. He can sit in the communal area. It’s not like he has to stay out in the chilly corridor. He could make tea. He could flick through the television. He could find _something_ to do in there to keep himself occupied. He could do it for Victor.

‘ _No_ ,’ Victor says firmly, apologetically. ‘No, you can stay. Please, stay. It’s not like you haven’t seen me crying before. I’m sure you’re getting used to it by now. And it’ll help me explain everything without... without me having to really explain it to you.  I want you to know everything, Yuuri. I want to tell you everything, I just can’t make myself do it the way that I should, the way that you deserve...’

Yuuri offers his lover a sad smile and squeezes his hand, he understands, pulling the blankets up and over their legs before moving to rub a warm hand down his partner’s back. Just to let him know that everything is fine. Just to remind him that he’s not alone. Just to emphasise that he never will be. Not again.

Victor scrolls down his impressive contacts list, his finger lingering for a moment before he glances over at Yuuri and presses ‘call’. Yuuri doesn’t see the name, he can barely see a thing without his glasses on, but he immediately recognises the voice. It’s a voice he knows oh so well.

‘Victor! Tell me you’re in a bar somewhere, dancing the night away with your gorgeous boyfriend!’ Christophe shouts jovially, fighting to be heard over the heavy noise of the background. Given how quiet the dormitory is, Yuuri knows that he’s about to hear every word of this conversation. Victor takes a deep breath beside him, no doubt trying to figure out what to say, but before he gets a chance to form a single word -

‘Victor?’ Chris asks through their connection and the russian frowns. The boisterous background noise fading away dramatically, so that the next time Christophe speaks, Victor and Yuuri hear his concern as clear as day. ‘Victor, what’s happening? Where are you?’

‘Hello, Chris,’ Victor manages shakily, his hand clutching at Yuuri’s thigh. Yuuri can’t see it, but he knows his lover’s knuckles are probably turning white. His grip isn’t tight enough to hurt, but it’s tight enough to ground Yuuri unflinchingly in the reality of the situation.

‘Victor? Are you okay? Vitya?’ Chris asks, softer than Yuuri’s ever heard him say anything, and Victor starts crying. Sobbing down the line. Just like Yuri had. And, before long, there are tears sliding down Yuuri’s cheeks too.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Victor cries honestly, so achingly that Yuuri has to grit his jaw, so he doesn’t start blubbering completely. ‘I’m thinking about Illya.’

 _Illya_ , Yuuri thinks, that must have been his name. The boy who was beaten to death for being attracted to his own sex. Yuuri tries to picture him, tries to imagine what he looked like, full of life and full of hope. He wonders if he loved Victor’s smile as much as he does. He wonders if they could have been friends.

‘Oh, Victor. _Shhh._ It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here,’ Chris says tenderly. ‘Just let me know that you’re someplace safe.’

‘I am, I am. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,’ Victor says in a rushed breath and Chris is shushing him again down the phone. ‘You sounded like you were having such a nice time, Chris. It sounded like you were having fun.’

‘All that matters is that you’re all right,’ Chris offers evenly, without a note of hesitation, ‘I’ll have a much nicer time if I stay out here and help you. This will make me much happier than being on any dancefloor ever could.’

‘I just...’ Victor begins heavily, turning to press his face into Yuuri’s shoulder. The dark-haired man wrapping his arms around his lover, a hand gently cupping the back of his head. Shifting a little to rid his body of any awkward strain as Victor’s body sinks into his.

‘I know,’ Chris says perceptively, and it’s clear that they’ve talked about this before, that they’ve talked about it a lot, and Yuuri is so grateful that Chris has been there, that he has been so soft and careful with his lover’s heart. ‘Do you want to tell me what’s been happening? Are you still in Japan?’

‘No, no. It’s... it’s such a _mess_. Yuuri and I are in St. Petersburg. Yura-’

‘Yura? Is Yuri okay?’ Chris asks quickly, his voice strained with apprehension.

‘Yes. Yes, he’s asleep. He’s right here. But...’ Victor trails off gritting his teeth, his eyes shut.

‘What’s happened? Victor?’ Christophe asks, with just enough authority that the russian lets out a long, steadying breath before he replies.

‘Somebody hurt him...’

‘ _What_?’ Chris asks, and they can both hear the shock in his voice, the way the wind is knocked right out of him. Victor only hesitates for a second, because he’s not sure that he should be telling other people about Yuri’s sexuality without his permission, but this is _Christophe_. The same Christophe who has been keeping Victor’s secrets for years. He can trust him. He does trust him. He will trust him again.

‘Yura kissed another boy... and someone saw him do it. You know what this place is like, Chris. You know what it’s like here for people like us. And they... they beat him for it. They beat him because they could. Because they know no one will care. And now they’ve made him feel so afraid. They’ve made him feel _bad_. And I… _I just_...’

‘ _Fuck_.’ Chris spits, and Yuuri can feel his heart beating so fast in his chest he can almost taste it. ‘Shit. Is he in the hospital? Is that where you are?’

‘No. No, thank God, we’re at his place. You know what he’s like. He’s too pig-headed. Afterwards, he just picked himself up off the floor and walked home. Then he phoned Yuuri and we flew out here and it... it’s just so... it’s just too… it’s too _much_. And I think of Illya, of what they took from him, of what they took from me, of what they took from all of us. And now I wonder... I can’t help but think... would he… do you think Illya would be proud of me? Have I lived a life that would have made him proud?’ Yuuri hugs Victor closer to his body as a fresh wave of tears shakes itself out of his lover. The dark-haired man’s teeth clamped together so tightly Yuuri worries they’re going to snap. But he can’t stop, he can’t relieve the pressure of it. He can’t do anything but hold on. This is too heavy, Victor has been carrying it around all by himself and it’s _too heavy_.

‘Yes. Yes, of course you have, Victor. You’ve never apologised for being who you are, have you?’ Chris challenges, with a subdued solemnity that catches in Yuuri’s throat.

‘I’m not ashamed of loving,’ Victor offers in a defiant whisper, ‘I’m not sorry for how I love.’

‘Nor should you be. And you’ve found someone to love, haven’t you, with all of your heart?’ Chris continues, his voice warm and familiar.

‘Y-yes,’ Victor breathes, looking up at Yuuri, who is staring right back at him with nothing but admiration. ‘I have found my Yuuri and I will never let him go.’

Chris hums agreeably down the line before he says, after a pause, ‘And you’re happy?’

‘I’m happy,’ Victor confirms quietly, his own voice steadily returning to him as he nuzzles against Yuuri’s warm chest.

‘Good. Then look at what you have achieved, Victor. You’ve found yourself so many good people, you’ve done so many wonderful things, despite everything you’ve been through. You didn’t let those bastards take your joy, or your grace. You didn’t let them take your skating, even though they could have. You’ve worked so hard to achieve what you’ve achieved. To get back on the ice after what they did. And it was hard, I know that it was hard. But you did it anyway, you did it for Illya and you did it for yourself. You’ve built yourself such a beautiful life, Vitya. And you’ve made it all. For you, for Illya, for all of us. So that kids like Yuri can see that anything is possible, so they can understand that when you love something you never ever let it go.’

‘I won’t ever let go,’ Victor says sincerely, as a tear tracks down his cheek, soaking into the fabric folds of Yuuri’s shirt. ‘I love you all so much, for supporting me like you have… even when I’ve made it a hard thing to do. If I have you, I have everything. You are all my heart.’

‘Then you _must_ see it, you can’t have let Illya down. How could you have? He would be so proud of you. I’m so proud of you. You work so hard, and you give so much. And Illya would be in awe of the life you lead now. That’s what I think. That’s what I believe. I think it would make him breathless, to see how you have grown, to see the man that you have become. We’re all proud of you, Victor. I hope you know that. Me, Yuuri, Yura, Yakov. And I know the dogmas of this world have decided that pride is a sin… but, with all my heart, I believe that living a life that doesn’t make you feel proud of yourself, of someone else, is a life wasted in an unforgivable way,’ Chris offers sincerely, letting the silence linger, letting Victor absorb everything he has just said, openly or otherwise. There’s a lot for the russian to think about but Yuuri is left speechless too. Yuuri has never truly understood how his lover and Christophe became so close, how they became unshakable friends, they’ve always seemed so different, but he understands now. Suddenly, he understands it all.

‘I’m proud of you too, Chris,’ Victor offers, as soon as he can find his voice again - which is much quicker than Yuuri would be able to find his. ‘You’re such a beautiful person.’

‘Hey, watch it. We both have boyfriends now,’ Christophe warns with a light laugh and Victor smiles, Yuuri can feel it.

‘Chris, you _know_ what I mean,’ the russian counters easily, sitting a little straighter, so he can raise a hand and watch as his own fingertips run along the soft curve of his lover’s jaw. It’s a deliberate touch and it says: _you are my world._

‘I know, I know,’ Chris offers with an effortless laugh and Yuuri watches as, like a flower, Victor’s entire body starts to open itself up. The tension he’s been holding suddenly melting away.

‘You should probably go back to your dancing,’ Victor says lightly, running a thumb across Yuuri’s soft lips. ‘I know you think that grinding is cardio.’

‘It _is_. If you do it right. But listen, I’ll only go if you feel okay. It’s all right either way,’ Chris says patiently and both Victor and Yuuri know that it’s true.

‘I’m okay, and I have my beautiful Yuuri right here beside me,’ Victor shares with a smile that seems to light up the dormitory in the absence of the sun.

‘Oh, you do? Can I speak to him for a moment?’ Chris asks casually and Victor hums as he nods his head, passing the phone over; shifting a little so they’re sitting opposite one another, their knees only centimeters apart. The change in the russian is incredible. Really, it is. It’s something to behold. And Yuuri feels like he’s just witnessed a masterclass in friendship.

‘Hello,’ the dark-haired man says quietly, his voice a little raw, mindful that Yuri is still asleep a few feet away from them.

‘Hey, Yuuri,’ Christophe purrs down the line, ‘You take good care of him, you hear me? Don’t make me have to find those videos of us together on that pole.’

Yuuri’s cheeks start to heat up, but part of him is thrilled to be getting the friendliest shovel-talk of all time, ‘Of course I will.’

‘Good and listen, if you need to, you can always call me. I’m here for you too, whatever, whenever, okay?’ Christophe says, the soft din of dance music slowly beginning to filter through the line again. ‘There’s no problem too small for a Giacometti to handle, all right?’

‘T-thank you, Chris,’ Yuuri stutters gratefully, Victor’s fingers wrapping themselves in the fabric folds of his t-shirt. Those long fingers ghosting his hip, making his stomach twitch. ‘And thank you for being there for Victor, that means so much to me.’

‘Oh, shush now. I’ll leave you two alone,’ Christophe says and Yuuri presses the phone against Victor’s ear, the older man leaning into it, his hand slipping down a little, just enough that it ghosts Yuuri’s groin before it presses against the mattress with an alarming squeak. Yuuri struggles to stifle a moan, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as Victor laughs at him.

‘I see you’ve recovered beautifully,’ Chris deadpans, tutting before he says, with an obvious grin, ‘Play nice. And phone me tomorrow, okay?’

‘I will. I love you,’ Victor offers easily.

‘I know you do. I love you too, have a good night,’ Chris says and then the line falls silent, Victor abandoning his phone to the floor. His hands reaching out, returning to grip the edges of his lover’s shirt. Pushing himself forward, onto his knees, frowning at the painful squeak of the mattress, before he leans down and presses a lingering kiss across Yuuri’s mouth. The japanese man moaning as he opens up to let his lover in. 

Slowly, very slowly, Victor climbs onto Yuuri’s lap. His knees tucked under Yuuri’s arms, his thighs pressing softly against his lover’s sides to keep himself in place. They can’t move much, not here, the groaning bed has made sure of that. But they can do this. Victor can cling to Yuuri as they kiss, he can let Yuuri hold him there. He can feel alive. He can be proud with his love.

‘I love you so much, Yuuri,’ Victor says then, his forehead pressed against his lover’s. ‘And I cannot wait to call you my husband.’

An unexpected bolt of pleasure shoots through Yuuri who cups the back of Victor’s head in reply and rejoins their mouths. Their bodies pressed together, close in the darkness.

They stay there for a while, neither of them willing to let the other go, just holding onto one another. But then Yuuri starts to yawn, his eyes start to close, he’s tired, these past few days have been exhausting. So, Victor climbs from his lap, lies down on the bed and waits for Yuuri to do the same. Pulling the covers up over their bodies before he wraps an arm around his lover’s waist. And, this time, Yuuri feels nothing but contented love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Chris.
> 
> Anyway, if there's anything in particular you'd like to see happen in the future of this fic, just let me know below!


	6. duality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Yuri & Yuuri time! I love their relationship so much!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lost this chapter and I had to start it again. It's caused me so much trouble. But it's done now. :)
> 
> Again, thank you SO MUCH for leaving me comments and kudos. It really keeps me going and it keeps me on track!

As soon as he opens his eyes, the dark-haired man finds himself staring into the crystalline gaze of Yuri Plisetsky. Yuuri had planned on adjusting to his new day slowly, by gazing out of the window like a daydreaming poet. But, instead of serenity, instead of calm, Yuuri finds himself descending into something he can only describe as his newly discovered ‘wide-eyed mama-bear mode’, his heart pounding as the adrenaline starts to surge through his still-clumsy, sleep-ridden body.

Automatically, he’s sitting up on the mattress; on auto-pilot, he’s reaching out to the blonde; without thought, his free hand is moving to push the blankets away from his body and legs. Within seconds, he’s ready. He’s present. He’s _worried_. Trying to focus on the teenager whilst also ensuring that his lover remains undisturbed in his well-deserved slumber behind him.

Yuuri’s rising panic is only stilted when he feels a gentle hand squeeze his shoulder. Staring down at those bruised fingers like they have a life of their own before he finally looks up at Yuri’s face. Instead of tightness, instead of anxiety, or fear, a soft smile spreads itself across Yuri’s mouth, his bright eyes radiant with determination in the glowing morning light. Framed by the black of his hoodie, the teenager’s pale face is a picture of graceful tranquility - as comforting as counting those amber hues in the frosted sky might have been. So, Yuuri lets himself take a series of deep breaths - in and out, in and out, in and out - and then he offers the cross-legged boy an apologetic smile. He hadn’t meant to panic and make a fool of himself, he hadn’t meant to automatically _assume_ that Yuri was falling apart.

‘Relax, Katsudon,’ Yuri says in a gentle hush, his eyes sympathetic and understanding, reaching behind himself briefly before he proudly holds out a steaming mug of fragrant tea. ‘I made this for you.’

‘Oh, th-thank you,’ Yuuri stutters, surprised by the kind gesture, his heart still racing. Taking the tea carefully, pausing for a moment to indulge in its flowery scent, before he blows across the hot surface and takes a cautious sip, aware of just how easy it’d be to burn his mouth red raw. But he doesn’t, in fact, it’s not hot at all. ‘It’s delicious, Yurio. Really. Did you add a splash of cold water to this for me? That’s very thoughtful of you.’

‘ _Maybe_. But, really, I’m glad you like it, it made me think of you. Enjoy it but don’t take all day. We’re going out,’ Yuri affirms quietly, with a tight nod, and Yuuri tilts his head in wonder and consideration.

‘We are?’ The japanese man offers slowly, suddenly realising that Yuri is already dressed and ready to go - he even has his shoes on, instead of those fluffy yellow socks that he likes to wear inside; even if they make him slip and slide all over the wooden floor of his dormitory.

‘да. I think I can make it to the bridge today, the one by the market, and I want to try it,’ Yuri confirms with an even voice, his gaze steadfast and decisive. Yuuri hums in agreement, he’s more than happy to be there, he’s more than happy to support his young friend - in this and in everything that’s still to come. He’s in this for the long haul, after all, just like Victor is.

_Talking of.._

‘Should I… should I wake Victor up?’ Yuuri asks suddenly and the teenager rolls his eyes. Like Yuuri has missed something important.

‘No, loser. It’s just going to be you and me, okay?’ Yuri says, with little room for argument. ‘Vitya needs to sleep, he’s wearing himself down, those dark circles under his eyes are gross, and I want it to be you... just in case I _can’t_ do it.’

‘Yuri, no one would think any less of you if you couldn’t - especially Victor - you know that. He was being honest when he said that no one is expecting you to give any more than you can freely give. You don’t have to rush yourself into something that you’re not ready for. Not with us. Not now. Not _ever_.’

‘I know that, Katsudon, but I _want_ to try it and I _want_ it to be with you. I know you’ll take good care of me if it… if it goes wrong,' Yuri offers, an edge of vulnerability seeping into his young voice for the first time.

‘I’ll take care of you regardless, Yura,’ Yuuri says sincerely and the blonde boy pushes his arm playfully in reply, his face a picture of mock disgust - except for his eyes, which say _I know you will, you’re my bad smell._ But, of course, he doesn’t say that out loud. Not when he’s trying so hard to be confident and bold this morning.

‘Don’t make it weird, loser. Just get ready,’ Yuri snorts instead, despite the warm smile that lingers tellingly at the corners of his mouth.

‘Of course. Sorry. You're ready. I’ll go and get dressed now,’ Yuuri offers quickly, starting to move, but the blonde has a hand on his friend’s shoulder again. Keeping him in place. To think Yuri used to daydream about this moron, to think he used to fantasise about holding his hand. Ugh. It's so embarrassing. The teenager feels his cheeks start to heat.

‘Finish your tea first, idiot. Seriously, you give all Yuri’s a bad name,’ Yuri grimaces before he smiles softly and settles down to watch the older man shyly finish his drink.

~*~*~*~

Outside, Yuuri is wrapped up like a mummy, his scarf billowing in the wind like an unwound bandage. Beneath his coat, he’s wearing a jumper, two t-shirts, and a vest - desperate to prevent the cold from seeping into his body, desperate to prevent his teeth from chattering painfully again. And it _works_ , thankfully his jaw appears to be firmly under his control; so, withstanding Yuri’s laughter as he dressed had been worth it in the end.

Yuuri's almost pleased with himself for beating the cold. But nothing seems to warm him like the teenager’s arm being looped firmly through his does. Yuri's not nervous today, like Yuuri thought he might have been, he's focused instead. Wearing the familiar expression of a determined competitor, and he’s decided he's going for the gold, his whole body is screaming as much.

The teenager had all but bounded out of the main door, flying out onto the snow-covered pavement, ignoring his racing heart as he put one foot in front of the other again and again. Walking far faster than he normally would but with such determination that Yuuri matches his pace without question. They must look a picture, storming down the street together. Like two raging bulls, their hot huffs of breath made visible by the biting cold. Their fists and mouths clenched tight as they nod and greet the dog-walkers and early morning commuters.

Within ten minutes, they’re standing on a gorgeous blue-green bridge, they’re staring out at a half-frozen river. _They’ve made it._ Yuuri smiles. The blonde turning to look at him. His face lit up like a christmas tree, his smile so wide the scab on his lip pulls painfully, making him wince. But the teenager doesn't seem to mind, he’s too busy being happy. He's taken himself by surprise today, he really has, but he hasn't shocked his companion. _No_. Yuuri always believed in him.

‘We made it!’ The teenager beams and Yuuri grins right back at him.

‘I’m so proud of you!’ the older man says, reaching across so he can run a hand down the teenager’s hoodie-clad arm. ‘I can feel my heart thudding in my chest.’

‘That’s because you don’t work out enough,’ Yuri bites playfully, his eyes sparkling in the light.

‘It’s because I’m happy for you,’ Yuuri offers, unoffended, before he smirks and says, ‘Besides, I have excellent stamina, just ask Victor.’

‘Ugh! Why are you being so disgusting?’ Yuri snaps, but his face is still a picture of joy. ‘Just let me have my moment. Just let me feel this.’

Yuri turns his face towards the sky then, his eyes falling shut. He looks so free, so at peace, that Yuuri finds his eyes flooding with hot tears - tears he’s determined not to shed. He doesn’t want to fall apart over this, this _is_ Yuri’s moment, he was right about that. But he’s so happy. Seeing Yuri happy makes him happy. And how beautiful and simplistic is that?

‘I want your life to be filled with moments like this,’ Yuuri offers honestly, barely above a whisper, not quite trusting his own voice. ‘I want to see you smile like this every day.’

Yuri’s smile falters then, just a little, as he turns to look at his friend, like he’s suddenly self-conscious about it. Like he hadn’t even realised that he was smiling to begin with, let alone so widely.

‘No,’ Yuuri urges. ‘Please, don’t stop. Seeing you like this - so happy and full of pride - it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. I feel like I could cry.’

‘Ugh, please don’t cry, Katsudon,’ Yuri pleads, staring back out across the icy water.

‘I won’t, don’t worry, I don’t want to embarrass you,’ Yuuri offers with an apologetic smile, his cheeks tinged with pink.

‘It’s not embarrassing…’ Yuri confesses quickly, so there's no misunderstanding between them. ‘It’s just… if you cry, _I’ll_ have to cry... and I’d rather just hug you instead. If that's okay?’

Yuuri smiles and pulls the blonde in, his arms firm around the teenager’s small body.

When then separate, Yuri links his arm back through Yuuri’s and drags him farther up the street, ‘Come on, I want to show you something.’

~*~*~*~

Yuuri has been abandoned outside a little shop that smells like heaven, the enticing waft of food streaming out of the door every time it opens. The dark-haired man stares longingly through the window, trying not to be too obvious, as he watches Yuri talk to the man behind the counter. He’s a little hesitant, his face isn’t as open as it could be, but he’s doing beautifully. He manages to order whatever it is he’s ordering, then he’s waiting, looking around the near-empty room - at a handful of tables, left lonely behind him. It’d look casual to anyone else but Yuuri recognises it for what it is - it’s Yuri making sure he can’t be taken by surprise.

So, it hardly comes as a shock when Yuri’s entire body seems to stiffen as he senses a presence creep up behind him. Yuuri frowns at his young friend through the glass, contemplates going inside, but then Yuri glances over his shoulder and comes face to face with an elderly woman. Upon seeing her, Yuri visibly relaxes, his shoulders sinking as he offers her a small wave; Yuuri can see the apology in it but he doesn’t know what the old woman must make of it. She smiles at the blonde boy anyway, and then she starts talking to him, her round face honest and warm, something she says catching his attention. He's blushing, his cheeks tinged with pink as he says something back. Even outside, Yuuri can tell that he’s talking in a whisper; even outside, he recognises that Yuri is saying ‘thank you’ to the woman who has so obviously recognised him as the famed ‘russian fairy’. Yuri hadn't lied. It seems like Yakov has Yuri and Mila’s pictures pasted on every second wall in the city.

The man behind the counter re-emerges, exchanges a paper bag for a handful of coins. Then he smiles and Yuri walks away, stopping to say something to the woman before he pushes the door open, its little bell ringing to signal his exit. Yuuri tries to appear like he hasn’t been watching the entire exchange but he doubts he's successful. Yuri scoff says as much.

‘Here,’ Yuri says as he hands the bulging bag across to his friend with a soft, lopsided smile, his cheeks still tinged with the particular pink of half-bloomed embarrassment. ‘They’re not as good as my grandpa’s but they’re close enough that they remind me of him whenever we’re apart.’

‘Oh, Yuri. Thank you,’ Yuuri says as he peers inside the bag, taking out one meat-stuffed pirozhki before he smiles over at Yuri and takes a bite. It’s _delicious_. It’s so delicious Yuuri moans as his stomach growls, causing his young friend to let out a snort of laughter.

‘I knew you’d like it,’ Yuri offers before adding, more quietly. ‘And I wanted to say thank you. For being here with me, for missing your exhibition skate. I know you worked hard for it. Don't even try and say that you didn’t, Katsudon.’

Yuuri offers the boy an emotional smile at that, his face awash with earnest sincerity as he says, ‘I did. I did work hard. But I wouldn’t be anywhere else. There’s nowhere I’d rather be but here with you.’

‘Don’t be such a sap,’ Yuri says with a groan, but he’s linking his arm back through Yuuri’s. Both of them walking back towards the blue-green bridge - Yuuri with a bag of pirozhki tucked tightly beneath his arm.

They’re about halfway across it when someone runs past them from behind, bumping straight into the teenager’s back, making him stumble forward, their linked arms swinging him in, directly towards Yuuri’s body. They collide awkwardly, the bag of food falling to the floor with an unforgiving thud, but Yuuri manages to keep them both on their feet, glaring at the back of the man who’s jogging off into the distance like nothing happened.

 _Who_ jogs in the snow anyway? What kind of sick _masochist_ does that? It´s horrifying. But, Yuuri thinks, his shoulders slumping, _rather him than me._

With a heavy sigh of begrudging acceptance, Yuuri takes a step forward but, for some unknown reason, he barely moves. In fact, when he tries again he realises that he _can't_ move. He traces the stiffness down his own arm until it leads him to the young russian beside him. Yuri is _stuck_. Frozen in place. His feet planted on the ground so hard it seems like he may never be able to move them again. Like there’s tendrils below his feet searching for the far side of the world.

Yuri's face is half-hidden behind his golden hair but, even from the side, even from his limited perspective, Yuuri can see the way his mouth is hanging open. He looks like he’s winded but Yuuri knows that he isn’t. He’s on the verge of panic, the japanese man would recognise that expression anywhere. He’s seen it often enough, gazing back at him through the mirror.

‘Yurio?’ Yuuri tries softly, unrestrained notes of desperation straining his voice as he unlinks their arms, instantly gripping his friend’s forearm instead. Tight enough to assure the young russian that he’s not going to let him go. ‘Yuri, are you okay?’

It’s a stupid question, and he feels stupid for asking it. In fact, as soon as it’s out of his mouth he could kick himself. So, he’s not surprised when Yuri looks up at him, his eyes wild and red, his mouth stretched into a wide snarl, his lip splitting open again, as he screams, ‘Does it _look_ like I’m okay to you!?’

‘Yura. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-’ Yuuri begins but he doesn’t get a chance to finish his thought, he doesn’t get to make his excuses, because Yuri has balled one of his fists and he’s tapping it harshly against the side of his head. A picture of unyielding frustration.

‘Yuri, stop it,’ The japanese man pleads, moving to grab his young friend’s hand, but the blonde lets out a frustrated howl and pushes Yuuri’s shoulder back instead. It’s hard enough to make him step back but not hard enough to hurt him. His fingers still firm around Yuri’s forearm. He's not that much of a pushover. He’s not that easy to get rid of.

The blonde brings his hand back up, ignoring the tiny trickle of blood that’s started to run down his chin, balling his fist once more before he’s slamming it against his own forehead. And that’s _too_ hard, it’s so hard it makes Yuuri jolt like he’s the one being struck.

‘YURI, STOP IT!’ Yuuri shouts, his voice seeming to echo below the belly of the bridge, this time succeeding at grabbing his young friend’s hand, pulling it down, away from his face, down somewhere closer to his waist. Where it can do no harm. ‘You’re going to hurt yourself!’

‘Well, maybe I _want_ to hurt myself! Did you ever think of that, huh, Katsudon!?’ Yuri bites out with a snarl, and Yuuri has to close his eyes, just for a moment, to regain an ounce of his composure. He’s angry, Yuri’s allowed to be angry, he was angry on the phone and Yuuri was patient. He can be patient again. He can let Yuri call him every name under the sun. But he can’t let the boy hurt himself. So, he maintains his grip and he listens, his mouth pressed in an unhappy line. ‘Maybe this is _stupid_ and maybe I _hate_ it. Maybe I hate how it makes me feel! Maybe I want it gone! Maybe I want _you_ gone! Maybe I just want everything to be smashed right out of my head forever!’

‘Don't say that, please. You’ve done so well today,’ Yuuri offers, as evenly as he can, after a stunned pause; so Yuri knows he’s not being scared away. The blonde deflates a little but he’s still visibly frustrated. So, Yuuri carries on, ‘I know it doesn’t feel like it now but this is just a tiny bump in the road. You said you wanted me to be here incase this happened. It happened. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. There’s not a _chance_ I’m leaving you alone. Not a chance, Yuri. So, you can stand here and you can scream at me, you can shout at me until your throat burns, you can push me, you can tell me to go away. But I’m not going _anywhere_ and I’m not going to stand here and watch you hurt yourself, do you understand me? So… why don’t you just tell me about it instead.’

‘ _What_?’ Yuuri says, the corners of his eyes creasing in confusion.

‘Tell me how it feels,’ Yuuri offers and Yuri tries to pull away, not that the dark-haired man lets him move an inch.

‘You wouldn’t understand it!’ Yuri bellows, his breath ragged and heavy. ‘How could you understand anything about this?!’

‘Okay. Then _make_ me understand, tell me everything,’ Yuuri says calmly, even though he thinks he could throw up in the snow. ‘Tell me everything, including the things you’ve been keeping to yourself.’

‘Fine, _you want to know_? I’ll tell you. I hate it! _I hate it!_ I feel so stupid all the time! I feel like an idiot! My body is completely useless! Stuck and stupid. All it does is betray me. Look at me, I’m trapped here like a _loser_! Some guy barely touched me and I’m falling apart and that… it makes me.. it makes me… it makes me want to hit something! It makes me want to rip something to shreds with my bare hands because why did this have to happen to _me_?! I’m just some punk-ass kid with an attitude problem. And I _know_ that I usually hate it when people call me a kid but it’s true, isn't it? I’m just a _child_ , Yuuri! I have too many exams, and puberty sucks balls, and I'm a complete mess most of the time - just like every other teenager in the world. And... and while we’re at it, what kind of people think it's _okay_ to do this to a child anyway?! What kind of sick bastards think that _this_ is okay?! And I... I just want to _smash something apart_! I just want it all to be _done_!’ Yuri screams and Yuuri can feel the tears forming in his eyes, he can’t help it. He’s never been great with people shouting at him and, above all, it _hurts_ that Yuri is hurting like he is. And everything he’s saying is true, of course it is, but that’s not what he wants to hear. That’s not what he needs. He _needs_ answers, real answers, he needs workable solutions. So, Yuuri gives him one.

‘Okay,’ Yuuri says eventually - quietly - waiting for Yuri to look up at him in surprise, most of his fight long gone. ‘You need to do something physical, your body is full of misplaced energy, I get that. I can understand that, Yuri. But you can’t hit yourself. You can work it out however you like but you can’t do it like _that._ ’

‘ _What_?’ The blonde says, and he sounds so much quieter now. He sounds so worn out. So done.

‘I don’t want you taking this out on yourself. I don’t want you hurting yourself. Take it out on a pillow, or in a gym, or on the ice…’ Yuri’s head shoots up at that. Like he hadn’t even considered the role that the ice could play in making him feel a little closer to himself.

‘Would you..’ Yuuri starts hesitantly. ‘Would you like to go to the rink?’

‘ _Yes_ ,’ Yuri breathes quickly and tears start to pour out of his eyes.

‘Oh, Yuri. I’m sorry,’ The older man offers, moving to wrap his arms around the teenager, the blonde’s fingers gripping tightly at the fabric of his coat. Yuuri cups the young russian’s head and holds him close to his chest. ‘We’ll go, okay? We’ll go home and get ready and then we’ll go. I bet Yakov can get us the rink to ourselves. You don’t have to worry about anything. We’ll do this together. Okay? The only thing better than one Yuri is two Yuris.’

‘I’m sorry for shouting at you,’ Yuri offers suddenly, muffled by the fabric he has his face pressed against. ‘I don’t want you to go. I _never_ wanted you to go.’

‘I know, and that’s lucky, because I’m not going anywhere,’ Yuuri says with a soft smile, reaching down to pick up the fallen bag of food.

Yuri offers him a lopsided smile and he wipes at his eyes before he takes an offered tissue and holds it against his bloody lip. Grimacing at the pressure before Yuuri wraps a protective arm across his shoulders. They wait for a moment and then they begin to make their way back to the dorms. It takes a while, their ten minute journey taking four times as long on the return, but they get there eventually and when they do, Victor is still fast asleep.

Yuri seems embarrassed now, his early morning bravdo long gone, but he helps Yuuri pack a small bag for the rink in companionable silence. And, when Victor begins to stir, the blonde boy climbs into the bed beside him and wraps his arm across his body without second guessing himself. It's like his instincts just take over. The silver-haired man holds onto the teenager and looks for Yuuri - who offers him a half-smile from across the room as he holds up the paper bag and says, ‘Yuri bought us pirozhki.’

‘You went out? By yourself?’ Victor asks quickly, his voice a little pitchy as he glances down at the boy wrapped around his middle, his head spinning with unpleasant images of Yuri alone and scared on the snow-covered streets with no one to hold onto. Victor knows that everyone heals at their own pace, but it had taken him _months_ to go out alone. This seems too soon. It seems like far too much, too fast.

Yuri must feel Victor’s heart pounding because he hums and says, ‘I went with Yuuri, so you don’t have to worry.’

‘I’ll always worry,’ Victor says easily, stroking a hand through the blonde’s hair, the yellow strands still crinkly from yesterday’s braids, but the anxiety starts to diffuse out of his body.

‘You two are so alike. It’s annoying and it’s _pathetic_ ,’ Yuri complains but then he rolls back a little, so his head is resting on Yuuri’s pillow, and he says, after a weighted pause, ‘Vitya. I was wondering... did the ice help you feel more like yourself... _after_? When you were hurt, I mean?’

Yuuri freezes across the room, his eyes turned on Victor.

A heaviness threatens to settle in the air around them but then Victor offers his young friend an understanding smile and he says, with honesty and unexpected lightness, ‘ _Yes_. Sometimes, I felt like the ice was the only thing that understood me. Like it was the only thing that could accept me and my pain for what it truly was. Yakov, he took good care of me afterwards, but he couldn’t be there for me all the time, even though he tried so hard to be. And I didn’t want the others to suffer because of me, he needed to coach them, he needed to teach them. But the ice… it always bore my bad feelings, it withstood so much of my _ugliness_ , so much of my hurt. And then, one day, I could show it beauty again, I could show it hope, I could show it _love_ , and it welcomed me back all the same. Like everything was going to be okay after all. And it was. It is. The ice can be there for you too, if you wish it to be, Yura. Along with both Yuuri and I.’

The blonde boy nods slowly at that and says, his bright eyes brimming with emotion, ‘Yuuri has offered to take me to the rink today and I’d like it if you could be there too.’

‘Of course I’ll be there,’ Victor says quickly, frowning a little when he notices that Yuri’s lip looks raw. Glancing up at Yuuri who has walked over to them, crouching down onto the floor beside the air mattress.

‘Yakov said we can have the rink to ourselves all afternoon,’ He adds helpfully and Victor smiles appreciatively at his lover. He could kiss him. But he knows that Yuri would groan along with the mattress, so he hums instead and smiles across at his companions before he says, with a sigh of contentment and admiration, ‘Look at you both. My two wonderful Yuris.´

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it looks like we're all off to the rink! Grab your skates.


	7. tribe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov has something he needs to say; Yuuri joins a tribe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos, they really do mean a lot!

As they approach the rink, arm in arm, the automatic door recognises their conjoined mass and slides open. Welcoming them into the warmth and calm of the building without hesitation.

Inside, the first thing they spot is Yakov, he's lingering just beyond the door - far enough away to avoid triggering the mechanism - one of his hands pressed against his hip, the other holding his phone as he reads, his face warped in concentration. Serious and closed off. Like a handful of unpleasant teachers Yuuri spent most of his childhood despising. But Yakov is _far_ from unpleasant and, as soon as he looks up, his countenance changes completely.

Yuuri can see tiny hints of happiness nestled in the corners of the coach’s eyes. Yakov’s been waiting for them. And that sounds like Yakov, it really does, it’s got him written all over it. At one time, not too long ago, his waiting may have surprised Yuuri - back when he thought the older man was as cold and unforgiving as the biting baltic wind - but he knows better now. Now, he thinks of Yakov braiding hair, he thinks of him bringing them a mattress without being asked for one, he thinks of Victor and Yurio who cling to him like he’s the father they never had, and he recalls the warmth that shines in their eyes every time they tease him. He thinks about all of that and he thinks about what Victor had said earlier, with such tenderness and affection: ‘ _Yakov, he took good care of me afterwards, but he couldn’t be there for me all the time, even though he tried so hard to be’._

Now, knowing what he does, Yuuri can’t help but beam at the man as they approach him. And he makes no apology about it. He absolutely doesn’t. Because when Yakov glances back at him and smiles - just a little - Yuuri feels such a force of warmth rush through him that it prickles in the corners of his eyes. Inviting him to understand, to truly understand, that he’s not an outsider. Not anymore. He’s a part of this, this little russian tribe, just as much as everyone else is. He's a part of their little family, and that minuscule twitch of the old mentor’s lips had proven it. So, even as Yakov clears his throat, his face perfectly serious, Yuuri can’t wipe his growing grin away.

‘The ice is empty, it will stay that way. Natalia is working the desk, she won’t let anyone else in. There’s only one condition to you being here today,’ Yakov offers plainly, his voice characteristically low and even, his eyes lingering on each of them in turn. Yuuri finds himself nodding along, ready to accept whatever it may be that the man has decided. Victor’s proud posture, as always, doesn’t give anything away. But Yurio is, of course, in search of the finer details. 

‘What’s this mysterious condition then?’ The teenager enquires quickly, tilting his head a little as he squints suspiciously at his mentor.

Yakov must see it, of course he must, it’s as plain as day to Victor and Yuuri - how the young russian is _itching_ to get back onto the ice now. His eyes constantly darting off towards the door. The agitation in his limbs making him tap his fingers across his thigh in a rhythmless fashion. He’s almost _desperate_ for it. But Yakov doesn’t draw attention to it, he’s not an unkind man by nature. Instead, he just answers his young protégé's question.

‘You are not to be here alone, Yura. _Not yet_. That is my condition. You can come here whenever you like, but you must be with Victor, or Yuuri, or Mila, or me, or with Lilia when she returns,’ Yakov imparts evenly. ‘If you come here alone, I’ll find out about it, and it won’t be good for you.’

‘Okay,’ Yuri says carefully - easily - because honestly he wasn’t even thinking about coming alone anyway. There are too many thoughts crashing around inside his head for that to have even cropped up. Besides, he never skates alone. There’s always _someone_.

And that’s when Yuuri notices it, the way in which the blonde’s eyebrows curve downwards, indicating his growing confusion. ‘Why are you telling me this? I’ve _never_ skated alone.’

‘Because the ice won’t turn you away, even if it should. I don’t want you overdoing things, Yuri. Not to the point that you do more harm than good, and there might be a moment, a spark of an idea, sometime in the future, maybe in the middle of the night, where you decide it would be less trouble to go alone, where you decide it would be easier not to trouble someone else, but it _isn’t_ easier. What’s far easier is you not hurting yourself,’ Yakov says, passion steadily building in his voice - unable to resist glancing over at Victor whose shoulders seem to slump down apologetically, a weak smile spreading across his lips as his cheeks heat.

And, just like that, there comes a sudden realisation for both Yuri and Yuuri, that this whole speech has been a warning about _before_ , about something that had happened with Victor, about Victor not wanting to burden people, about Victor pushing himself _too far._ It’s about Yakov not allowing that to happen to one his skaters ever again. It’s about love. It’s about protecting his family.

‘We understand. Victor and I, we’ll be right here with him, day or night,’ Yuuri says then, quick and determined, so Yakov looks at him instead of Victor, the old mentor’s eyes softer than the dark-haired man ever remembers them being. ‘And, while we're here, I just wanted to say thank you. From all of us. For arranging this. I know the notice was short. And I know this place is incredibly popular. So, thank you, Yakov.’

‘Ha!’ Yakov laughs loudly, smiling across at Yuuri, and it seems for a moment like the russian coach might slap him on the arm or on the back but he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t, instead he puts his hands on his hips and says, ‘No notice is too short for my skaters. Just make sure you _stay_ my skaters. _All of you_. And I’m including you in that, Katsuki. You’re no good to me if you’re broken. No injuries. No recklessness. No damage. Understood?’

‘Understood,’ Yuuri says swiftly, his eyes widening a little, as if Yakov has just given them a pep talk instead of a warning. He’s really starting to adore this man. And he’s really starting to get the hang of Yakov-speak. He knows now that _you’re no good to me if your broken_ is actually a direct translation of the lesser spoken _if you get hurt I’d never forgive myself._

‘Of course,’ Victor concurs, his voice strong and sincere, ‘Thank you, Yakov.’

‘Yura?’ Yakov asks, determined to hear the teenager say it out loud. But, when the coach’s face falters, Yuuri turns to look at the blonde who has unhooped his arms to wipe at his eyes. He’s crying. Yuuri doesn’t understand why exactly but it doesn’t matter, a lot is happening, a lot has happened. Hell, Yuuri cries over the silliest things sometimes, once he cried for an hour because he ran out of tea (he hadn’t even wanted tea) so he gets it - reaching out to rub a comforting hand down the teenager’s back as Yakov presses on carefully.

‘You understand what I’m saying to you? You’ve already been hurt, Yura, and that is a terrible thing. Don’t hurt yourself back in return. You defeat those bastards by being the best person you can be. By being the best skater you can be. And you need to be healthy to do that.’ Yuri nods, smiling gratefully up at Yuuri for a moment before he closes the gap between him and Yakov, wrapping his arms tight around his mentor’s waist. Pushing his cheek against the man’s sturdy chest. Yakov tuts affectionately and holds the teenager closer to him.

Victor, suddenly feeling the need for touch, reaches out to grab Yuuri’s hand and, as he holds onto it, Yuuri wonders what this must be like for Yakov - to go through something like this twice. To watch someone you care about be attacked and then for it to happen again, a decade later. It seems inconceivable. He wonders if Yakov recognises the devastating sadness of the repetition, of holding onto a teenager who has been beaten for being who he is, of holding him and supporting him like a father that never was. The clutch of Yakov’s hand on the back of Yuri’s hoodie makes it seem like he does.

Yuuri, suddenly full of sadness, smiles over at his lover and Victor, who has been watching his partner closely for a while, squeezes his warm hand reassuringly.

‘Why don’t you go and get yourself ready?’ Yakov says eventually and Yuri nods, lingering just a little longer, before he walks off towards the changing room. Taking the small bag that they brought along with him.

Victor moves instinctively, intending to follow his little kitten through the door, but Yakov reaches out and stops him in his tracks, a gentle hand on his shoulder. Considering Yuuri for a moment before he looks back at the silver-haired man - who must give him some sort of invisible signal, confirming that Yuuri knows what happened to him - before he says, open and unrestrained, ‘I’m always here for you, Vitya. This is a very hard thing for me, so it must be hell for you.’

‘да.’ Victor says lowly, wearing a grimace of a smile. ‘But hell is more manageable if you’re not alone. And I am not alone.’

‘No, you’re not, and you never will be,’ Yakov reminds him with a short nod, his eyes flicking across to Yuuri. ‘And now we must, all three of us, make sure that it is the same for Yura. This whole thing… it breaks my heart. He’s a good boy.’

‘да. Yura is strong and he is smart. He won’t hurt himself, not like I almost did, you don’t have to worry about that. I won’t let him come close to it. Neither will Yuuri. And I’m sorry that I scared you all of those years ago. I was too afraid of things that I didn’t need to be scared of,’ Victor offers honestly and Yakov smiles, his eyes shining as he squeezes Victor’s shoulder again. Lingering reassuringly before he pulls away. Glancing regretfully up at the clock that hangs on the wall behind him. As if there are things he wants to say but he doesn't have the time to explain them properly.

‘I promised Mila I’d drive her to ballet, but I might see you later,’ Yakov offers instead and, as if on cue, the redheaded young woman pushes the door of the changing rooms open. Walking up to stand behind her coach, a crimson duffle bag slung over her shoulder as she waves at them. Yuuri and Victor wave back, and they smile, and they decide to not dwell on how red her eyes are. Or the fact that she’s obviously been speaking with Yuri.

‘Perhaps we’ll see you later then,’ Victor says decisively, so his young friend has an excuse to move past them and wipe at her eyes. Trading ‘goodbyes’ before they separate. Yakov taking Mila’s bag from her grip, a warm hand pressed against the middle of her back, as he escorts her to his car. Victor leading Yuuri off into the changing rooms.

Inside, Yuri is dressed for the ice, staring at himself in the full-body mirror. Determination stamped all over his face as he lifts his hands up to tie his hair back. Yuuri catches a glimpse of Victor’s soft smile in the reflection.

‘Here. Let me do that for you,’ Victor says, moving to stand behind the blonde. Yuri handing his hair elastic over without argument, his shoulders relaxing a little. ‘I should teach you how to do this, Yuuri. It’d be a good skill for you to have.’

‘Oh. I don’t think I’d be very good at it,’ Yuuri offers honestly, almost shyly, and Yuri groans in despair.

‘That’s why I said I’d _teach_ you,’ Victor smiles patiently, before he grins and adds, ‘You didn’t think you’d be good at a lot of things and look how well that turned out. Just believe in yourself, my love, and you can do anything.’

‘Ugh. I feel sick,’ Yuri moans in disgust, and Victor tugs his hair a little, so the teenager meets his gaze in the mirror as he says, ‘One day, you will be like this with your Pasha, Yura. And you’re never going to hear the end of it from us.’

Yuri blushes, his eyes falling to the floor as Victor ties his hair up with a warm smile.

It’s quiet, almost too quiet, but both Victor and Yuuri hear the young Russian say it anyway.

_I hope so._


	8. agape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Yuri on ice!

Yuuri has anticipated anger, he’s anticipated fury, he’s even anticipated resentment - not aimed at him and Victor - never that - but he’s anticipated it nonetheless. Because Yuri is hurting, isn’t he? And he’s turbulent. And every time he has an eruption of raw emotion he focuses on the mental rather than the physical - on weakness, on injustice, on the sense of being out of control.

It had been so obvious earlier - Yuri’s eagerness, his impatience, his desperation. In fact, those sentiments had been so overwhelming they hadn't allowed Yuuri to foresee the teenager’s current struggles. This sudden, jarring stillness that has frozen him to the spot once more. But here they are.

Victor's standing beside the blonde, close and soft, whispering warm encouragements so gently in their native russian that they almost sound like a lullaby. Victor’s desperate to reach out and touch the teenager but Yuuri can see it in his posture - in the way he holds himself so carefully - that he’s determined to wait for _Yuri_ to reach out and touch him first. He doesn’t want to crowd the boy, he doesn’t want to overwhelm him with his presence. Victor - more than anyone - can understand how a misplaced, well-meaning hand can be far worse than receiving the touch of no hands at all. Afterall, touch can be a complicated thing. Especially if someone has had their hands on you without your permission - forcing that sense of _never_ wanting to be touched again into direct opposition with the _need_ to be touched kindly and safely.

And Victor is _safe_. He’s a beacon of safety. He’s Yuuri’s safe. He always has been. Even before they officially met. And, suddenly, this whole thing is so strange for Yuuri to be witnessing, this form of tenderness, it’s almost surreal - usually, when his anxiety gets the better of him, _he’s_ the one that Victor soothes, _he’s_ the one who relies on the silver-haired man so profoundly. But now, as an observer, as a spectator, he can recognise how it all works more clearly, the dance of it all, the steady rhythm of it. The way Victor moves, the way he speaks, the way he’s so careful and attentive and patient - allowing the other person to dictate the dynamic.

With a little space, and a little distance, Yuuri looks and he sees that _Yura_ is the one in control; moreover, he understands that the blonde is not only choosing the dance but the music. And now, from this brand new point of view, Yuuri realises that it’s been the same when Victor has had to take care of him. Despite how out of control his panic sometimes makes him feel, Victor always gives it back to him, he hands control over on a plate, even if Yuuri can’t recognise it in the moment. And that is a revelation of kindness that swells profoundly in Yuuri’s chest.

  
When Yuri does manage to push himself out onto the ice, it’s slow and it’s cautious - his heavy body and his halted movements making time itself appear weighted and deliberate. He’s unsure. And Yuuri has never seen that in the teenager before, not out on the ice - he’s only ever seen Yura full of energy and confidence. So, when Yuri starts skating in soft, cautious circles, like he’s somehow done something wrong, Yuuri’s heart starts to squeeze in his chest. It’s worrying. It’s heartbreaking. He glances over at his lover, who has moved to stand beside him, and he sees that this is upsetting Victor too - his eyes brimming with emotion as he stares out at the boy, lonely and small on the ice. A picture of vulnerability and that very particular defenselessness of youth.

‘ _Yurotchka_ ,’ Victor whines quietly, in a long heavy breath, his voice tinged with the brash blues of sadness. Yuuri doesn’t know what to say to that, so he does the only thing he can think of, he slips his arm through Victor’s and he leans softly against his lover’s shoulder. It’s a small gesture, and it may not seem that significant, but it means the _world_ to Victor who leans back against his partner and slowly lets the tension slip out of his body.

And then slowly, very slowly, Yuri begins to open up his circles, his arms starting to stretch outwards - for shape and ease of movement, but his left shoulder - his badly bruised shoulder - remains just beyond it’s full stretch. The whole thing is a little stiff. A little angular. But it wouldn’t be obvious, not to an outsider, not to someone who hadn’t watched Yuri skate so frequently, but it’s all Yuuri can see now, as he watches the teenager move.

It goes on for a while, maybe too long, Yuri skating shy figures of eight, until he stops abruptly and skates over to the barrier, to where he’s abandoned his phone, scrolling through it quickly before he abandons it once more and skates off to the centre of the rink. He doesn’t pose, he doesn’t make any obvious gestures, he just stands there and waits, his eyes cast downwards as the music starts to play: it’s his _agape_.

‘ _Oh_ ,’ Yuuri hears himself say sharply, his voice high and uneven. His eyes wide as he watches the young russian.

It’s not his usual routine. It’s not the skate that won him gold. This is something else entirely. This is a different beast. This is personal, and raw, and unrehearsed. He doesn’t think about it, he just moves instinctively. And it’s not perfect, it’s far from perfect, but it’s honest. It’s beautifully, painfully, honest. And it knocks the wind right out of Yuuri’s sails.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Yuri builds himself up - opens his body up as far as he can, pushes himself as hard as he can - until he’s gliding around the rink in time with the crescendo of the music. Eyes wide, his lips curled into an emotional snarl, as he pushes himself across the ice. As the ice listens to what he has to say. And it’s unmistakable. It’s beyond language or sound, it’s primal. It’s animal. It’s Yuri trying _so hard_ to remember the power of unconditional love. It’s Yuri clinging onto that innocent, unjaded part of himself that he’s always tried so hard to protect, to keep for himself. Not from those he loves, never that, Yuuri thinks, for Yuri is a gentle and thoughtful soul, but from the wider world.

A year ago, he had struggled to find his agape, Yuri had found it too hard to expose that part of himself, to bare himself in that way for the gaze of others - but Victor had encouraged it, and infused the journey with competition, and allowed Yuri to show the world his unbridled beauty. But now, now it was suddenly hard again, now it was different. Now, Yuuri supposes, everything is different. But he is still loved. Of course he is. Because Yuri will always be loved. Unconditionally and completely.

As the song draws to a close, Yuri rotates in the middle of the rink, coming to a standstill without any fuss. His chest heaving. He coughs a few times, short and sharp - both of the older men suddenly worried about the bruising on his ribs that they haven’t seen but they now assume must be there - before he lifts his head up. His wide eyes crackling with heated emotion.

Yuuri feels like he should move closer and say something but he doesn’t even know where to begin. But that doesn’t matter because the sound repeats, the opening strain of Yuri’s agape seeping out across the room again, and he starts to move once more. And this time he’s angrier. This time he’s furious. This time, he’s _exactly_ what Yuuri had anticipated him being all along.

And so it goes. On, and on, and on. Again and again. Yuri dancing his agape and everything it means, until there are tears slipping down his cheeks, his head held high and proud as he tells the ice everything. Until he explains how he feels - his cheeks red from the sheer amount of energy he’s expending. Then, the song closes again and Victor moves, unlacing his hand from his lover’s as he advances on Yuri’s phone. Stopping the song as the opening notes start to ring out again. For the seventh time. Yuri’s head snaps up and Victor stares at him, not unkindly, offering him an understanding smile. He’s about to push himself too far. Yuuri had been agitated the last time around, worried that it was already too much, but Victor had squeezed his hand as if to say _just let him have one more, my love_. And so they had. They’d let him have one more run through of the song - silent spectators of the teenager’s thoughts made real. But that last time was _it_. Yuri is on the edge of pushing too hard. And they can’t let that happen - they owe him that much.

‘Come here, Yura,’ the older russian says, reaching out a gloved hand. Simple and unrestrained.

The teenager doesn’t complain, he doesn’t seem to hesitate. Instead, he pushes towards Victor without a word, ignoring the offered hand altogether in favour of wrapping his arms straight around Victor’s middle. Clinging to the silver-haired man silently before glancing up and catching Yuuri’s eyes with his own. The teenager’s damp cheeks glistening under the light. Still pressed against Victor as he reaches out his own hand, his voice not needed. The japanese man understands well enough. Moving to close the gap between them all. Yuri pulling him in, so all three of them have their arms wrapped around each other. A huddle of love and understanding.

 _Agape_.

‘My legs are burning,’ Yuri says eventually, with a snort, his voice quiet but tinged with a smile.

‘That’s because you worked very hard out there,’ Victor says easily, leaning over to plant a lingering kiss on top of Yuri’s head. ‘Thank you for letting us see that, Yura.’

‘You must be tired,’ Yuuri concurs, with a soft smile. ‘Why don’t we all have a hot chocolate and then head home? If you want to, we can always come back tomorrow.’

‘Okay,’ Yuri says, his stomach starting to grumble. ‘That sounds nice.’

 

~*~*~*~

 

Back in the changing room, Victor is texting Chris as Yuri re-dresses - Yuuri reading over the conversation as he leans against his lover, where they sit together on a bench. It’s light and it's pleasant and, when there’s a ping, Yuuri realises that Chris has sent Victor a photo of his boyfriend asleep with a cat curled up on his chest. And suddenly it’s obvious, how much domestic bliss suits Chris. And, damn it, Yuuri just can’t stop the tiny ‘aww, kitty’ that slips out of his mouth as he takes in the picture, Victor smiling across at him.

‘Perhaps, I should send him a photo of you asleep with Makkachin in return,’ the silver-haired man grins and Yuuri’s eyes widen.

‘You have photos of me asleep with Makka?’ Yuuri asks, half-horrified, his cheeks starting to flush. He’s always believed himself to be an awful sleeper - all noise and uncontrolled movement. Even though he has no idea if that’s actually the case.

‘Of course I have photos of you and Makka. As if I could pass up an opportunity like that,’ Victor counters, clicking the little camera icon to scroll through his immense library of photographs.

Victor loves capturing his memories. But Yuuri is still amazed by how many of the photos on Victor’s phone are actually of him - cooking, laughing, playing with Makka, asleep with Makka, dressed up for a night out, dressed down for a night in, dressed in... _hardly anything at all?_ Yuuri groans as he cheeks burn. Not used to seeing himself practically naked. Victor tuts playfully and Yuuri wonders if he’s learnt that from Yakov, who he’s noticed tends to do the same thing. Not that he wants to think of Yakov right now - when he’s being confronted with an image of his practically nude self. The japanese man groans in despair.

‘Hush, you’re beautiful, Yuuri,’ Victor says sincerely, enlarging the offending photo, before he leans against his lover’s shoulder and whispers, ‘I know this photo _very_ well, my love. It keeps me company when we are apart and my head is full of you - when _I_ can’t be full of you. When I’m all alone and I'm feeling hungry.’

‘ _Vitya_ ,’ Yuuri hisses quietly, glancing over his shoulder to look at Yuri who is in a world of his own, his headphones in as he pulls a t-shirt over his head. ‘I thought you’d deleted those.’

‘Don’t worry, my love, our little kitten can’t hear us. And how could I delete something this wonderful? Look at it, Yuuri, look at yourself,’ Victor says, his gaze fixed on the photo and Yuuri does look at the image again, almost shyly - observes the way his chest is flushed, how strong his legs look as he leans against the bathroom sink in nothing but his underwear, his long back reflected in the mirror, alongside Victor’s grin as he holds the camera in nothing but his sweatpants, his erection obvious as it presses against the giving fabric. Seeing Victor like that, hungry for him, it makes his heart flutter. Yuuri forces himself to look away. Then the photo shrinks back down and Victor chooses a more appropriate photo - of his lover cuddled up next to his dog - to send to his best friend.

Christophe types out a reply but they don’t get a chance to read it because Yuri has thrown himself down next to Victor and has taken his phone, grinning as he clicks on the photo Chris sent so he can get a good look at his cat. And Yuuri is suddenly mortified by how close Yuri had come to seeing them both _like that_.

‘Yura, it’s rude to take things without asking,’ Victor says, but it’s an empty expression. He’s not mad. Beaming across at the teenager instead, Yuri using the stolen phone to text Chris back.

‘It’s _rude_ to have a picture of a cat this cute and not show it to me, Vitya. _That’s_ rude,’ Yuri counters with a grin, sending his message before he hands the phone back to Victor.

Victor reads over the message and smiles:

_Cool cat, loser. I miss you, Yura. xx_

Then he shows it to Yuuri who just snorts and says, ‘Are you two ready to go?’

 

~*~*~*~

 

For vending machine hot chocolate, it’s not that bad. Besides, they all get to sit on the comfy chairs for a while before their walk home - a fact which seems to make the drinking chocolate taste even sweeter.

Yuri is sitting quietly, scrolling through instagram, trying to like as many of Beka’s photos as he can without it seeming weird. Then, when he starts to worry that he’s liked one too many he goes onto Mila’s account instead and leaves a comment on her freshly-posted ballet selfie, telling her that she looks beautiful and strong - making sure to use the silly cat-with-heart-eyes emoji that she always uses in her texts instead of his name. Just because he hated how she cried for him earlier, as he clung to her hand.

_She's a good friend._

Victor and Yuuri are talking easily about everything and nothing but most of it’s incredibly boring and annoyingly practical - like what they’re going to eat and who’s going to cook. So, Yuri tunes them out and focuses on his phone instead. He’s in an almost meditative state, clicking through Phichit’s photos, when his phone pings and his body stiffens. Victor glances at him, notices the rigidity of his posture, and stops talking mid-sentence. Twisting in his chair, placed beside Yuri’s, so he can watch him as he says, ‘What is it? What’s happening, Yura?’

‘It’s Pasha,’ Yuri says quietly. ‘He’s texting me.’

‘And why are you so nervous about that?’ Victor says, patient and focused. Never judging.

‘He’s asking me if I want to go out with him to eat tomorrow?’ The teenager says cautiously, like it’s a question that Victor knows the answer to. Victor wants to smile at him reassuringly, but he can see how worried the young russian looks, he can see how the nerves are about to start eating him up.

‘You don’t have to say yes,’ Victor offers instead. ‘He won’t think any less of you.’

‘How can you know that?’ Yuri asks then, with strains of urgency, and Victor touches his arm gently, grabbing his attention. ‘ _How can you know, Vitya_?’

‘Because he’s a good boy. But, besides that, it’s a good thing,’ Victor begins, glancing briefly at Yuuri before he continues. ‘If you tell him ‘yes’, then he will be thrilled, of course he will. But, if you tell him ‘no’, then he’ll understand and he’ll be grateful that you felt comfortable enough to decline his offer. It’s not all or nothing, it’s just food.’

‘I don’t know...’ Yuri says, his body shrinking in on itself. ‘I don’t want to let him down.’

‘You won’t be letting him down, Yura,’ Victor offers quickly. ‘Think about it. Would Pasha want you do something that you didn’t want to do?’

‘No,’ Yuri says quietly and Victor smiles.

‘How about a compromise?’ Yuuri offers suddenly, his two companions turning to look at him in unison. ‘Why don’t you invite him over to the dorms? You can make him a meal, I can show you how. And we’ll be around, just in case you need us. And that way you won’t have to worry about being in an unfamiliar or busy place.’

‘You would do that?’ Yuri asks instinctively and Yuuri nods as Victor says, ‘Yes, of course, Yura.’

‘Okay,’ Yuri says, as he types out his message. Hesitating for just a moment before he clicks send.

Not twenty seconds later the phone pings again and Yuri smiles, which makes the other men smile too, as he reads over the latest message from Pasha - straightforward and to the point.

They’re finishing the last of their hot chocolates when Victor’s own phone beeps, he pulls it out of his pocket, expecting it to be Chris again but it isn’t. Instead it’s a message from an unknown number that simply says:

_hey, is yuri okay? i just threw a dinner date at him, out of nowhere, and i don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable or weird?? please let me know, sorry._

_also, i forgot to say. this is pasha :)_

Victor glances over at Yuri, who is staring at Pasha’s text with a soft smile on his face, no doubt trying to work out exactly what three kisses at the end of a message mean, before he glances back at his own phone to let the poor boy know that everything's okay and he can stop worrying.

When he looks up again, Yuuri is smiling at him curiously, Victor simply shakes his head, waves his phone in the air, and slips it back into his pocket. _I’ll tell you later_ , he says without saying it.

Yuuri hums, satisfied enough, and looks over at Yuri, who’s finishing the last of his drink as Victor says, ‘We should probably head back now, you have to decide what you and Yuuri are going to be cooking tomorrow, and you’ll have to decide what you’re going to wear to impress your Pasha.’

‘I… I have to wear something special?’ Yuri asks, his head snapping up so quickly Victor laughs.

‘Of course not, but it could be fun,’ Yuuri offers and the teenager smiles. _It could be._

And, maybe, Yuri thinks, if he asks nicely, Victor will braid his hair for him again. It always makes him feel so beautiful and strong - like Victor has twisted his own energy into his hair. And, right now, he needs as much good energy as he can get. Because, even though he'll never admit it, he's a little afraid of seeing Pasha again.

So much has happened since they last parted, hasn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're coming towards the end of this story, or at least this part. So, last chance for requests!
> 
> [If you want to, you can find me on tumblr here: salty-in-st-petersburg.tumblr.com ]
> 
> Have a nice weekend!


	9. connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to get ready for Yuri's date. And there's a little Otabek too!

Yuuri is roused by a gentle finger tapping against the ball of his shoulder. It’s nice, in a way, rhythmic and constant - like a time-keeping metronome or the steady heartbeat of a loved one. So, instead of opening his eyes, he snuggles deeper beneath the heap of blankets, his eyes still closed as he hums and starts to slip back into comfortable unconsciousness. It’s only the distant groan - and an uncertain voice - that serve to spark Yuuri’s brain back into waking, ‘Come oooooon, Katsudon, I’m sweating like a loser here. Pasha will be here in…  _ four  _ hours. Shit. Yuuri,  _ please _ , wake up. I need you.’ 

And that’s all it takes for Yuuri’s eyes to slowly flutter open; tangible relief washing over the obviously-anxious teenager. The blonde is sat cross-legged on the hard floor, right beside the makeshift bed, exactly where he had been the day before. And, as with the previous day, Yuri offers his friend a crooked smile before he reveals a steaming mug of delightfully fragrant tea. 

Yuuri smiles back at the boy and forces himself to sit upright, the blankets pooling between his thighs, his bones heavy and his muscles tired. Sleeping on the squeaky air-mattress finally taking its long-anticipated toll. But, despite the discomfort that’s starting to rattle through his body, Yuuri’s glad that he’s there, he’s glad that he’s close to Yuri. 

‘Good morning, Yura,’ He says, his voice honey-sweet, taking the warm mug from the blonde’s ever-careful hands. Making sure neither of them burn their fingers in the tricky exchange.

‘Morning, piggy,’ is the reply Yuuri receives, it’s subdued but it’s pleasant - a single strand of golden hair resting upon one of Yuri’s flushed cheeks, the rest of his hair scooped up into a high, messy bun; his eyes glassy in the crisp morning light - betraying the fact that he’s been awake for hours.

The leopard-print tank top that the teenager is wearing allows the older man to re-observe the bruises scattered across the young man’s body, they’re slowly transforming into various shades of deep green - framed by hued fringes of malted-brown. Those violent marks, they still make Yuuri feel sick, they still make him furious, but they’re one step closer to vanishing altogether and he’s grateful for that. He’s  _ so _ grateful for that. Just like he’s grateful that Yuri feels comfortable enough to wake him up and let him be there for him. Yuuri knows how hard it can be to ask for help. He’s struggled with that himself. Even with Victor, at least in the beginning, so he understands how it feels, how it can make you feel a little vulnerable and a little wary. But he can be soft and he can be safe. For Yuri, he can be anything. 

‘What time did you get up?’ Yuuri asks lightly, the flowery fragrance of the tea almost aching to be inhaled as it seeps into the air around them like a silken shroud. The teenager bites at his lip, then he seems to remember that his lip is still sore and he lets it go with a wince.

‘Six or maybe… maybe somewhere closer to five,’ Yuri offers and Yuuri reaches out and touches his friend’s arm in silent understanding.  _ That’s okay. _

‘You’re nervous about today, huh?’ The dark-haired man continues, without a hint of judgement. 

‘Да. All I can think about is what might go wrong, and there’s a lot,’ Yuri offers honestly, his eyes dropping to fixate on his socked feet. ‘I  _ know _ it’s stupid-’

‘No _. _ No, it’s not, it’s okay,’ Yuuri counters sincerely, hoping that one day Yuri will cease explaining his genuine feelings away as being something ‘stupid’ or inconsequential, but the older man knows that it’s a process, he knows that it takes time, so he says, as mercifully as he can, ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s worrying you, and then we can see what we can do about it?’

Yuri pauses at that, just for a moment, then he glances up and Yuuri and he says, his eyes almost comically wide, ‘I’m worried that I’ll be a bad cook. I cook for myself almost everyday, sometimes for Mila too, but it never really matters if it's bad, or boring, or burnt.’ 

‘No, I suppose that it doesn’t. But I’m going to help you with that. So, let that worry be on me, okay? I can take that one off your shoulders right now,’ Yuuri says with a soft smile, ‘What else is on your mind?’

‘It’s silly.’

‘That’s okay,’ Yuuri counters quickly, ‘I won’t think so, I promise. If it’s something serious for you, then it is for me too. Okay?’

‘I guess, I’m just… I’m worried that I won’t wear the right thing,’ Yuri says, mostly to his socks, grimacing at how trivial it sounds when spoken out loud before he lets out a despairing groan. All of his worries seem so silly.

‘Yuri, you  _ really _ don’t have to worry about that. Just wear what you’d wear if you were going out for coffee, or to the cinema, or if you were coming to eat with us. Whatever makes you feel comfortable, that’s all that matters. Victor was only teasing you yesterday -  but I’m sure he’d be more than thrilled to help you pick something out and I know that he’d  _ love _ to do your hair for you too, if you want him to?’ Yuuri offers, grinning over at his sleeping lover. ‘I know he loves that. I think it makes him feel close to you. So, you can put all of that worry on him, okay? Let him worry about braids, and patterns, and contrasting colours. Just focus on being with Pasha, on being happy, on enjoying yourself for a while, okay?’

‘O-okay,’ Yuri says quietly, forcing himself to look up at Yuuri, like he’s checking just to make sure, his cheeks aflame with the ripening heat of embarrassment. Yuuri reaches out and touches his young friend’s arm again. ‘There’s something else. Isn’t there?  What is it?’’

Yuri nods once, it’s a subtle confirmation, then he struggles to keep his eyes on Yuuri, opting to shift his gaze away from his friend’s face, focusing instead on his shoulder as he says, with no small amount of hesitation, his voice too soft and too quiet, ‘I’m worried that seeing me like this will change things between us. That he might be disgusted, or angry, or sad. I think that might be worse. And I don’t… I don’t want him to change the way that he thinks about me, or the way he looks at me, or the way he... touches me. I don’t want him to be careful. I don’t want his pity. And I think… I think all of these bruises… I think they make me ugly, Yuuri. They’re a horrible reminder. And I think they say that I can’t stick up for myself. That I just let those bastards push me ar-’

‘ _ Oh, Yuri _ ,’ Yuuri begins, cutting in kindly but firmly, his face wide open with understanding, ‘In your heart, I know that you understand that you did  _ nothing _ wrong that day, that you didn’t  _ make _ this happen, that you didn’t _ allow _ them to hurt you like they did. I know that you know that, that this is just a thing, that this is just a moment of uncertainty, and that’s okay. That’s okay. Because I can tell you again, and again, and again that you did _ everything _ right, that you’re fine  _ exactly _ how you are, that you’re  _ beautiful _ . And I don’t just mean your face, or how you carry yourself, or how strong you are. I mean  _ you _ . I mean who you are. And I think Pasha... I think he must see that too. You’re so easy to love. I know you probably hate me saying that but it’s true. And he’s a good person isn’t he, your Pasha?’

Yuri nods once, then he smiles, just enough that it tilts one side of his mouth before he says, his eyes almost sparkling, ‘He’s a good person, he’s a gentle person, he reminds me… of  _ you _ .’

‘Then you don’t have to worry,’ Yuuri says with a small smile of his own, reaching across to take his young friend’s hand in his. ‘I can promise you that, you don’t have to worry. Not about that. Because what happened could  _ never _ change how I feel or think about you.’

‘But… all of these bruises... they…’ Yuri begins, gesturing at himself before he trails off, the thought half-formed, but Yuuri understands what he’s trying to say. Maybe better than Yuri does. Because knowing about those bruises and seeing them are two entirely different concepts. When they’d first arrived in St. Petersburg, those marks had stopped Victor dead at the door and, more than once, Yuuri has caught himself staring at the angry contusions. At the evidence and what it all means. But, ultimately, this is not about them, it’s all about Yuri. It’s about Yuri, and himself, and his boundaries. And, more than anything, it’s about Yuri being in control of those boundaries.

‘Those bruises, they’re yours,’ Yuuri begins passionately. ‘You decide how many you show Pasha, how much you tell him, and when and how that happens. Okay? No one will take that away from you. You can wear a shirt buttoned up to your neck, if you like. Or you can wear the shirt you’re wearing right now. That’s up to you. That will  _ always  _ be up to you. What I said earlier, I meant it, all that matters is that you’re comfortable. And you can change your mind, even at the last minute, even when Pasha is already here. Okay? So,  _ please _ , don’t hurt yourself, trying to give what you think you have to. Whatever you decide, it’s the right decision.’

‘O-okay,’ Yuri says quiety, after a considerable silence, and Yuuri smiles at him. Ever patient.

‘Why don’t we have a look over a few of those recipes for a while?’ The dark-haired man offers and the blonde boy nods, standing up before he pulls Yuuri up off the mattress as smoothly as he can. 

 

~o~O~o~

 

Yuri is still holding the Japanese man’s hand when they approach the bed. The blonde giving Yuuri a moment to take in the sheer volume of cookbooks that lie face down, scattered across the bedcovers; as well as the open notebook filled with messily scrawled russian, and his laptop and phone which both beam recipes out into the ever-lightening room. He really has been busy. But Yuuri doesn’t mention it, not in a way that will make the teenager feel more self-conscious about it, he simply untangles their hands, picks up a book that’s emblazoned with the japanese flag and smiles to himself. Then, he turns to face Yuri and he says, his voice bright and eager, ‘If we cook something from this, it’ll probably turn out perfectly.’ 

Turning his attention back to the often-used book, Yuuri flicks through its pages - making note of the splashes of food, the scribbled notes in the margins, and the masses of dog-eared pages - he can’t stop himself from smiling across at the teenager then and saying, ‘Well, this is certainly well loved.’

Yuri’s blush intensifies at that, but his eyes stay on Yuuri as he all but whispers, by way of explanation, ‘When I was younger, I may have had a thing for a certain japanese guy.’

‘Oh. You got this because of me?’ Yuuri says, his face a picture of earnest surprise. ‘Because you liked me?’

‘I  _ still _ like you, just not like that,’ Yuuri corrects, almost shyly, ‘And, I guess, I wondered what you were eating everyday.’

‘Do you like how japanese food tastes? Generally, I mean.’ Yuuri asks and the blonde nods.

‘Да. But I can’t make it as well as you can,’ Yuri confesses, his smile widening as he adds, ‘And you can’t make it as well as your mother can.’

‘Not yet. But I’m learning, and that’s why I’m here!’ Yuuri grins good-humouredly. ‘I can help you with this. I’d love to, honestly. Would you like us to make something for Pasha from this book? Or a few things? I can show you how to do it. And I can tell you all about it, if you’d like me to?’

Yuri just nods at that, his small smile widening considerably. The tension diffusing as Yuuri helps him talk through his anxieties.

‘Why don’t you show me what you’ve liked, or what you’ve wanted to make but haven’t, that could be a good place to start,’ Yuuri says, offering the book to the teenager, but Yuri doesn’t take it, he simply steps forward and wraps his lithe arms around Yuuri’s waist, waiting for the dark-haired man to hold him, waiting for his body to relax a little before he breathes out a shaky breath and says, ‘Thank you, Katsudon.’ His voice wavering, just a little, as Yuuri holds him tighter.

 

o~O~o

 

Yuri and Yuuri are standing in the communal kitchen, preparing their ingredients. Yuri weighing out ingredients on a scale, flour dust dappled across his nose as the older man slices vegetables will military precision. 

Victor is finally awake and he’s watching his two Yuris from an armchair in the corner of the room - his legs curled up under him, a steaming mug of tea in his hands. He looks the picture of comfort, half-lost in a black, oversized jumper. His face drawn into a contented smile. It’s only when he notices Yuri’s phone glowing that he interrupts the two.

Yuri picks it up, smiles at the name he sees, swipes his finger across the screen, and presses the speaker button, dusting his hands down across his shirt. 

Yuuri looks over at the teenager then, his knife motionless on the well-used chopping board -  the blonde looks content and untroubled as he says, ‘Hey, Beka. You’re on speaker, Victor and Katsudon are here.’ 

‘Hi guys, hi Yuri, how are you?’ Otabek returns, his voice light and crisp, he’s clearly pleased to have found a moment to call his friend. And Yuuri can’t help but smile at that. He’s so glad Yuri and Otabek are friends - the Kazakh had always seemed a little lonely to him, a little isolated, perhaps a little sad, and Yuuri would be lying if he denied worrying about how often he'd seen Otabek lingering at the very edges of community events, waiting for any old excuse to leave.

‘I’m okay, are you okay?’ Yuri offers, tapping a bowl off the work-surface to even out the flour inside.

‘Yeah, I just wanted to check in with you. You haven’t posted on instagram in a few days,’ Otabek offers, his voice still light, although tendrils of worry are clearly audible. Making Victor look up from behind his mug. 

‘I know,’ Yuri says quietly, his hands lingering a little as he moves to pick up a new bowl.

‘I miss seeing your face, I miss seeing what you’re doing,’ Otabek offers and, as he glances across at the teenager, Yuuri manages to catch the expression on Victor’s face out of the corner of his eye - his lover’s eyebrows are raised sympathetically, his forehead creased, ever so slightly. He looks adorable. So adorable it makes Yuuri’s heart race.

‘My face is…’ Yuri begins, and Yuuri drags his gaze back to their young friend, looking at him for a moment before he commences slicing his greens. Significantly slower than before.  He doesn’t want to make the young russian feel uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to stare. If he wants to tell Otabek what’s happening, what’s happened, then that’s his decision - and, whatever he decides, Yuuri will support him, so will Victor. Of course they will. 

This is an important moment. 

All three of them know it.

‘Yuri? Are you really okay?’ Otabek asks then and, even through the phone line, Yuuri can picture his face, concerned and curious. He’s another good person. Another in a list of many and Yuuri realises how lucky they are - to be surrounded by such good people.

Yuri lets out a hum of consideration, then he lets silence settle in the air between them. They don’t interrupt, they let him take his time. 

‘I’m just...’ Yuri begins hesitantly, before he glances over at Yuuri, who’s still chopping greens, and then over at Victor - who seems to be less busy - before he gather his phone and decides to walk towards the chair, sitting on the arm, so Victor can place a warm hand on his back as he says, his eyes closed tight, ‘Things are hard right now. And I don’t feel like sharing it with the world. Sorry, Beka.’

‘What?’ Otabek says, his voice thin, like he’s suddenly breathless. ‘Yuri, what’s happening?’

Victor watches the teenager closely then, just as Yuuri does, as he struggles to answer what Otabek has just asked. His posture stiffening, ever so slightly, but it’s enough. It’s a sign that he might need help. Yuuri considers dropping his knife and marching over there. But Victor leans down, puts his mug on the floor, and pulls Yuri towards his lap, just far enough - so Yuri understands that he can move closer, while also having the option to stay exactly where he is. It’s his choice. 

Almost instantly, Yuri slides down onto his lap, Victor throwing a supportive arm around his waist. Yuuri looks over at them then, considers moving closer to the pair, but Victor offers him a lopsided smile that says, _ I’ve got this _ . So, the japanese man hesitates, just a little, before he continues chopping vegetables into pieces - far smaller than they strictly need to be.

‘Yuri?’ Beka asks then, his voice strained through the phone’s tinny speaker, and Yuri closes his eyes again. He wants to tell someone, by himself, on his own terms. That’s obvious to Yuuri. He wants to do this for himself and Otabek is his friend. Therefore, Otabek is the perfect choice. But it's still hard.

‘Some people hurt me,’ Yuri offers eventually, in a rushed huff of breath, and silence simmers across the phone-line again. Metaphorical static threatening to overcome them. But Beka finds his voice again, when it becomes clear that Yuri is waiting for a response from him. 

Yuuri has abandoned his knife altogether now, this is far too important. This moment could be vital - if Otabek says something ‘right’ then it’ll encourage Yuri to continue being open, and strong, and brave. But if he says something ‘wrong’ then it could have mammoth consequences, it could make things very difficult - maybe not right now, because he’s being nothing but open with both Yuuri and Victor, but in the future. And Victor is proof of how hard that silence can be, of how terrible being unable to speak about something so painful can be.

‘Are you hurt badly?’ That’s the first thing Beka asks, not _ why _ . He’s not asking ‘why were you hurt?’, he’s not asking ‘what were you doing?’. He’s not saying anything that can be traced back to it being Yuri’s fault somehow - to Yuri being too obvious, or bold, or - worst of all- too much of himself. And, suddenly, a very heavy weight seems to lift itself of Yuri’s chest. Seems to flit away from all of them. 

_ Yes _ , Yuuri thinks,  _ Otabek Altin is a very good person. _

‘It’s just a few bruises, I’m okay,’ Yuri says and his throat sounds dry, not at all like he’d gulped down a whole glass of water just before Otabek called.

‘Really?’ Otabek asks, and he’s not being accusatory, he’s just sad. They can all hear that. He’s just trying to make sure that his friend is well. 

Yuuri watches with wide, concerned eyes then, as Victor moves his hand upwards, cupping the back of the blonde’s skull, running a gentle thumb across his skin there.

‘Really,’ Yuri affirms, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

‘Can you skate, okay?’ Beka asks next, after a small pause, his voice warm with concern and Yuri can’t stop himself from smiling then. Genuine and warm. And that makes Yuuri’s chest ache - the sincerity that strings the two young friends together. 

‘Да. I can skate, and Yuuri and Victor are here to keep me company for a while. So, don’t worry about that,’ Yuri offers and Victor rests his hand on Yuri’s arm, as if to emphasise the fact that they’re both there for him.

‘Wait... is...  _ is Pasha _ -’ Beka asks suddenly, that jarring breathlessness from earlier returning.

‘Pasha’s okay. He’s okay. He wasn’t there,’ Yuri says with a sad smile. And he doesn’t feel so angry about that anymore. At least, not today. And that feels good. That feels very good indeed.

‘You were all alone then?’ Beka asks instinctively, almost sharply, before he adds, in a way that makes Yuuri’s heart plummet into the deepest pit of his stomach, ‘I’m really sorry, Yura.’

‘Don’t be,’ Yuri says, then. ‘It’s not anything you did… and it’s not anything I did.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Otabek says in grave agreement before he adds, his voice filled with halting hesitation, ‘Listen, Yuri, I’m really sorry but I have to go, I’m phoning on my break, I have to head back to the ice but…’

‘That’s okay, Beka. What is it?’ Yuri asks, his own voice light and steady.

‘Will you phone me back later, or facetime me, or something. Please? When you have a minute. It’d just.. I’d really like to speak to you again later,’ Otabek says and Yuri can practically feel his friend’s blush through the phone. 

‘Yeah, I’ll facetime you. I miss your face too you know,’ he offers as Victor moves his hand to squeeze the young russian’s leg and, even without words, that little gesture says, as clear as day,  _ I’m so proud of you, my little kitten.  _ And that makes Yuuri smile. He loves watching his lover interact with Yuri - there’s something so beautiful about the unwavering tenderness that Victor offers him.

_ ‘ _ My face is already all over instagram,’ Beka says with an obvious smile and Yuri rolls his eyes.

‘Well, I miss  _ talking _ to your face. Why do you always make me say stupid stuff?’ Yuri groans, though there’s no actual complaint in it.

‘That’s what friends are for, right?’ Otabek says with a short laugh before he pauses and says, his voice suddenly a lot quieter, ‘Listen, I’m sorry if I’m too much sometimes, I just… I never had a proper friend before you.’

Yuuri feels his heart stutter in his chest at that, he’ll never understand why some people always seem to get left behind, or picked last, or forgotten altogether. 

Yuri simply groans.

‘You’re a perfect friend, moron. Now, go and skate so I have some actual competition. And so we can show these two old geezers what  _ winning _ really looks like.’

‘Thanks, Yuri,’ Otabek says then, a little brighter, and Yuri smiles at that. ’I’ll speak to you later then.’

‘Of course. Bye, Beka.’ Yuri says, just before Otabek hangs up the phone, hoping his friend will be okay. He’ll talk to him later, for a while, maybe until one of them falls asleep. It wouldn’t be the first time. Once Yuri woke up to discover they’d been connected for ten hours, just snoring at each other through their respective cameras. He wouldn’t be opposed to doing that again. Beka is his best friend, after all. And, if you can’t fall asleep on your best friend, then what’s the point?

When Yuri looks up, Yuuri is close, leaning down on the opposite arm of the armchair, his face a picture of unwavering love, as he says, ‘I’ve finished preparing all of the vegetables. Do you want to help me make a start?’

‘Oh, I do,’ Victor smiles brightly and Yuri nods his affirmation too, letting himself be pulled up off Victor’s thighs, the silver-haired man following close behind his two Yuris, mug returned to his hands and, even though it’s no longer steaming, Victor still let’s out a contented sigh as he takes a sip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed a bit of Otabek!


	10. meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is finally upon us! Thank you SO MUCH for joining me on this little journey. 
> 
> There are two little scenes/scenarios that never quite made it into this story - one featuring a young Victor and Christophe talking about what happened, the other involving the return of Yuri's attackers. They wouldn't quite fit... but maybe I'll post them as extras one day!
> 
> Anyway...

One things for certain, Yuri Plisetsky has a lot of clothes - his little pop-up wardrobe bulging like a river ready to burst its banks. The midsection stretched and painfully swollen. 

From the floor, Yuuri keeps a watchful eye on his two favourite Russians. Splitting his attention equally between the scene that’s unfolding before him and the dog-eared Russian textbook that Yuri has lent to him. The Japanese man determined to make the most of their unexpected stay in Russia. He’s perched on top of a large, tasselled cushion; at what he has determined to be a relatively safe distance - lest a sudden landslide of animal-print fabric should seep out and attempt suffocate him. The textbook is pressed open on the floor in front of him, as he reads over the contents of the same page again and again. Trying to commit the barrage of new words to his memory. _You have to feel it_ , Victor had told him, _you have to feel that new word and the existing object connect in your mind. Don’t translate anything word for word. It’s a waste of time. Learning a new language is like rewiring, you already have everything you need, you just have to shift things around. It’s like learning a new routine made up moves you already know. You can do this, my love._ And Yuuri had taken that sentiment to heart, that welcomed assurance of faith in his non-existent linguistic abilities, because not only does his lover have a very talented tongue, he has the cleverness to match. And, above all else, it’s nice to be believed in by the man he loves most in the world.

As he studies, there’s a fresh cup of green tea warming his enduringly cold hands. Yuuri’s still not acclimated to the nipping St. Petersburg weather, despite the fact that Yuri has managed to borrow a halogen heater from Georgi Popovich’s room; despite the fact that the aforementioned heater is now rotating less than three feet away from his jumper-clad body. The orange glow of it tinting his form like the coming and going of a sun-dappled ocean tide. The intermittent warmth soothing him with each of its caresses.

Yuuri has no role to play here. He’s just here to watch; his legs folded beneath him comfortably. He understands that the process of choosing an outfit can take a while. He does, after all, live with Victor Nikiforov. The man most likely to recognise and understand the blonde teenager’s plight. In fact, Yuuri’s practically _trained_ himself for this exact situation - he’s spent countless hours reading on their bed while Victor has fussed and prepared himself for one of their rare evenings out. Both of them homebodies who much prefer a glass of wine and a movie to the endless cacophony of nightclubs and pubs. And he’s right, of course he is. Even from behind - _already_ \- Yuuri can tell that his lover is sympathetic to Yuri’s circumstances. Tilting his head thoughtfully as he says -  excitement creeping into his voice, ‘May I?’ His curious fingers already reaching out towards the zipper with an eager twitch.

‘Да. Of course,’ Yuri offers with a radiant smile, his amiable mood making both Victor and Yuuri tingle with happiness. The joyful sensation swirling pleasantly through them - from their heads down to the very tips of their fingers and toes.

With contented hum, Victor slides the wardrobe’s zip down to the ground in one swift move, a pile of stray garments spilling out onto the floor. Then, he stands there for a while, a finger drawn up towards his face, no doubt resting it upon his chin as he ponders the options he’s being presented with. There’s no obvious order to it, at least from where Yuuri is sitting but -   _somehow_ \- it seems to make sense to his partner who hums in approval as his eyes scan across the heady jumble of items. His mind whirling in anticipation.

After a period of comfortable silence, Yuri looks away from his little pop-up closet for the first time, gazing over at Victor instead. He watches him for a while, the man he so obviously considers his brother, affection sparkling in his eyes, before he clears his throat and he says, just loud enough for Yuuri to hear him too, ‘Vitya?’

‘Да, my little kitten?’ Victor replies quickly, curiously. Although there’s little doubt in either of the Yuris minds that he’s still thinking about clothing and outfit choices as he turns to look at their now red-cheeked young friend.

‘I don’t really know how to say this,’ Yuri begins hesitantly, tucking a stray strand of golden hair behind his ear. Victor hums gently in reply, acknowledging both his young friend’s reluctance to continue and his difficulty in doing so.

Yuuri shifts a little then, pulling his eyes up from his borrowed textbook. This could be something important. If nothing else, Yuri is anxious about it. And that alone makes it worthy of Yuuri’s attention too.

‘That’s okay,’ Victor says easily, an immediate and reassuring sweetness colouring his ever-steady voice. ‘Why don’t you try telling me about it anyway and we’ll see how we get on?’ And that’s so like him. From the get go, Victor wants to let Yuri know that there’s no way anything he says can be wrong or not worth hearing. He’s telling him that, whatever it is, it’s okay. Before he even says it out loud, _it’s okay._ And that’s important. That’s very important. After something like this, it’s vital that he maintains a voice, even if it’s not audible.

Yuuri smiles to himself, as he comes to the dawning realisation that Victor would probably listen to Yuri read out the entire dictionary if the teenager wanted an ear for it. No questions asked. Then again, Yuuri supposes, so would he, of course he would, he’d do anything for Yuri - and that’s a conclusion that only broadens his grin.

‘It’s to do with what I want to wear,’ Yuri offers quickly, in a bit of a rush, and Yuuri understands instantly. They’ve already talked about this. ‘I mean, I don’t _know_ what I want to wear. And I don’t know the _type_ of clothes I want to wear… so I don’t… I don’t...’ Yuri stops himself, hindered by his own frustrations, unable to find the right words. He presses his fingers against the prominent bruise that resides on his exposed shoulder instead, as if to explain. As if to say, _it’s about this_. Before he adds, his fingers nervously falling down to twist at the hem of his shirt, ‘I just wanted to say that, in case you pick something out…. and then I can’t wear it later.’

Yuuri watches them from over the top of his mug, as Victor rests a hand on their young friend’s forearm. Noting the way Yuri rises a little on the balls of his feet, leaning subconsciously into the familiar, always soft touch of Victor’s fingertips.

‘That’s okay, my love. I’m only here to help you. You’re in control of everything, yes? All _I_ want is what _you_ want. You understand that, Yura?’ Victor says quietly, sincerely, moving his hand upwards to raise Yuri’s chin with a single guiding finger. Encouraging the teenager to meet his eyes. He does.

‘Да, Vitya. I understand that,’ Yuri smiles smoothly and Victor claps his hands together, his enthusiasm returned, if a shade duller.

‘Good. Then let’s put a few things together,’ Victor encourages Yuri warmly. ‘And even if you decide to wear something else later, I’ll be glad to have spent this time with you anyway.’

‘Me too,’ Yuri smiles across in return, pushing at Victor’s arm before he adds a playful ‘loser’ to his honest and heartfelt sentiments.

They must be there for at least an hour after that, Victor and Yuri, chatting back and forth, Yuuri watching them happily, before they’re surrounded by a circle of outfits, spread out on the floor like a series of chalk outlines at a crime scene.

Everything they’ve placed out is something comfortable, and everything they’ve placed out is something Victor has chosen - Yuri having given the older man permission to mooch through his billowing wardrobe without restriction. Enabling the silver-haired man to pick out whatever caught his eye, and he had.

But Victor has also obviously made sure to include a wide range of choices - Yuri had opened up to him earlier, he’d explained how he felt about his bruises, about his uncertainty regarding their visibility, even without his words, and Victor would never ignore that.

Not in a million years would Victor Nikiforov fail to take something like that seriously.

 

o~O~o

 

Yuri stands at the door of the skater’s communal kitchen, he looks nervous - his hands pulling unnecessarily at his clothes - but he’s not terrified. He’s not scared. Not like that. Yuuri and Victor wouldn’t let this date happen if Yuri was genuinely afraid. Of course they wouldn’t.

The teenager is dressed in a roomy leopard-print t-shirt, a black hoodie, and black skinny jeans. The food he made with Yuuri lined up and ready to be taken through to his room. They have less than half an hour now, before Pasha arrives. So, the two Yuris begin the ritual of carrying dishes and bowls into the teenager's dormitory. Setting everything down on the work-surface in the little corner kitchen. Victor staying behind, to keep an eye on the rest of the food, just in case a hungry skater emerges and decides to help themselves. The silver-haired man only assisting the Yuris when there's nothing left to carry but the cutlery and a vast array of soft drinks. Victor having miraculously found the time to take a trip to the nearby supermarket.

_I don’t know what Pasha likes_ , Victor had said, his arms weighed down by four bags filled to the brim with fizzy drinks, _So, I panicked and I got one of everything._ Yuuri had walked over, kissed one of his lover’s cheeks, and taken two of the bags from him.

Once all of the food has been moved, there's only one thing left to do. Yuri's hair. His wild blonde strands still scooped up in a high messy bun. It's beautiful and it’s natural, effortless in a way that oozes contemporary style, but that doesn't stop Yuri from sitting down on the floor in front of the sofa anyway. Victor behind him, Yuuri beside Victor.

The teenager reaches his agile fingers up before he tugs away the hair elastic. Grimacing a little as it pulls a cluster of strands unpleasantly on its way out. Shaking his head a few times, so that the meadow-yellow strands fall wildly around his face, Yuri’s hair parts naturally somewhere near the centre.

Yuuri takes the proffered elastic from the boy’s care and Victor starts to untangle any knots he can see with his fingertips. Then, when he’s finally completely satisfied, he commences brushing and twisting the strands together, weaving them in and out. In a constant and steady motion. Until what they’re left with is a beautiful French braid running down either side of the teenager’s head. It looks incredible.

As always, Yuuri is in awe of his lover’s intricate handiwork, he’s in awe of the care he’s so obviously put into it, and he’s in awe of the love that Victor always pours into helping Yuri. And he can't ignore the slow softening of Yuri's shoulders either, it’s as if Victor's hands are working magic, as if he's truly braiding courage directly into their young friend.

Yuuri can't stop the fond smile that twists his mouth, not that he would. Handing another elastic, drawn from the bag of multi-coloured hair ties that Yuri had given to him before he sat down, over to Victor who hums pleasantly as he takes in his own work.

‘It looks beautiful,’ the dark-haired man offers earnestly and Yuri twists around, so he’s on his knees, to look up at him and to look up at Vitya.

‘It’s perfect, my little kitten,’ Victor says, his voice unexpectedly emotional. ‘And now you are ready and there is nothing at all for you to fear, okay?’

Yuri nods his head, offering them both a lopsided smile, and Victor continues, ‘If you need us, we'll be in the common room, you can call me or you can call Yuuri, or you can text us if it's easier. And, whatever happens, I want you to know that I'm so proud of you, that Yuuri is so proud of you.’

Yuuri nods his head in firm agreement, pressing a hand against the gentle curve his lover’s back, and Yuri pulls his eyes downward as a soft pink blush starts to colour his cheeks. The sudden movement meaning that the blonde misses the poignant shine of Victor’s eyes as he says, open and honest, ‘I could not have done what you have done, not so quickly. And I don't say that to scare you, Yura, only to remind you that you are a strong person. Only to say that I admire you, that your strength gives me strength. And I have needed it so much these past few days. So, thank you.’

Yuri opens his mouth, his hand reaching out, his bruised fingers resting on the older Russian's knee, but before he can speak, before he can sort through all of the things he wants to say and put them into some kind of intelligible order, there's a gentle tapping at the door. Yuri’s whole body stiffens. Victor places his warm fingers on the teenager’s shoulder and he says, voice as soft and mellifluous as ever, ‘Don’t you worry, I'll go and get it.’

As Victor moves towards the door, Yuri turns to face the Japanese man - his friend - his eyes wide and vulnerable, his chest rising and falling like he's on the verge of breathlessness. Somehow managing to choke out six, almost pleading words regardless of any rising panic, ‘Can I really do this, Yuuri?’

The man in question bristles, a little surprised that the teenager has used his name. Half-expecting ‘piggy’, or ‘katsudon’, or ‘moron’, or ‘loser’, or even ‘old man’. But the answer is the same anyhow - the answer is firm and positive - the answer is a solid ‘yes’.

In its entirety, the answer is: ‘Of course, you've got this, Yuri! I know you have. You've been through so much. You’ve accomplished so much. Being with someone you care about… that's something good, that’s something that you more than deserve. Not that this is about ‘deserving’. You don’t have to earn happiness or affection. I just mean that you should embrace this opportunity to be loved and admired - because you're safe here, you’re absolutely safe. So, please don’t worry. Not about a thing. And, it’s like Victor said, we're just down the hall. And you can always - _always_ \- reach out to me.’

Yuri reaches out a hand then, wrapping it across the top of Yuuri’s wrist. He holds it for a moment, not even attempting to find the right words this time. And buoyant voices start cutting through their warmhearted and companionable silence.

‘Vitya!’ Mila’s voice rings out, ‘I found this lovely boy hanging around outside, he's here for Yuri.’

‘Да, thank you, Mila,’ Victor offers, waving at the redhead as she spins around, her ballet bag slung over her shoulder as she slinks back down the hallway. Leaving an unfamiliar teenager in her wake.

‘You must be Pasha,’ Victor smiles at the boy, and Yuuri pulls Yuri up off the floor - squeezing the boy's arms gently, before they walk towards the door together. No more than a few inches apart. Yuuri’s learnt something about Yuri recently - that he’s like Victor in that way. Closeness bringing him strength.

‘Да. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nikiforov,’ Pasha offers in heavily accented English, following Victor’s linguistic lead so that they don’t accidentally isolate Yuuri, and Victor tuts.

‘You must call me ‘Victor’, please,’ Victor says, his grin now audible. ‘Any friend of Yuri's is a friend of mine. Let me introduce you. This is my partner Katsuki Yuuri.’

‘Oh, I know who you both are, Sir. It's an honour. Yuri has told me so much about you,’ Pasha says in a soft voice, reaching out to shake both Victor and Yuuri’s hands.

‘Well, aren't you a well-mannered young man!?’ Victor beams, like he's ninety-seven years old instead of twenty-eight. That makes Yuuri laugh, and Pasha blush. Which, in turn, makes Yuuri’s smile broaden - that's something he'd do. Yuri was right, already he can see similarities between himself and Pasha. Although, physically, they're quite different.

Pasha is tall and thin, his hair pushed over to one side, revealing a closely buzzed undercut. The soft, brown hair frames his jaw beautifully, leading the eye down towards the silver ring that adorns his lip, and to the softest of smiles that lingers warmly at the very corners of his mouth. He's nervous, Yuuri can see it, he's better at hiding it than Yuuri ever was but it’s still there. And Yuuri’s determined not to add to the teenager’s stress, so he smiles and says, bright and hopeful, ‘Why don't Victor and I leave you boys to it? I’m sure you have a lot to talk about. I really hope you enjoy the home-cooking, Pasha.’

‘Да,’ Victor says, clapping his hands together with a sense of finality; then to Yuri, ever considerate, ever cautious, not intending on leaving Yuri's side without his express permission to do so, he says, ‘I'll see you later, okay?’

Yuri nods. Yuuri pressing a reassuring hand against the teenager’s back briefly, before they leave the two boys alone. Intent on giving them the privacy that they need and desire. This is all a part of Yuri reestablishing his control, and his boundaries, and his control over those boundaries.

Once they close the door, they stand there for a moment, just outside, Victor leaning down to press a chaste kiss across his lover's soft mouth.

The hallway is totally silent, apart from the hushed voice that ripples through the air, soft and concerned. It’s an exchange that takes place entirely in Russian, but Yuuri can just about make it out through the wood, and even if he can’t understand some of the words _exactly_ he can more than understand the sentiment behind them, ‘I've really missed you, Yura. I'm so sorry that I wasn't there. I should have-’

‘No,’ Yuri says quickly, passionately, his voice a little shaky. ‘Don't say that, Pasha. Please, don’t say that. There's no sense in us both being hurt… besides, I don’t think I’d be able to handle that. I can barely handle _this_. Without Victor and Yuuri… I don’t know. I don’t know what would have happened. But I know that you’re here for me too.’

'I am,’ Pasha says then, and Yuuri can tell that he’s crying by the way he sniffles before he continues. ‘I am. I am. _I am_.’

With that, Yuuri links his arm through Victor's and they head off towards the common room. Yuri and Pasha have a lot to talk about but that’s okay because Victor has something he wants to say to Yuuri too and it’s going to take him a while to get it out.

He’s kept a lot of things inside his head for far too long.

  


o~O~o

 

It’s more than obvious that Victor wants to say something. As soon as they’re alone, Yuuri sees it, the anticipation bubbling away in his lover, just beneath the surface. This is why no one ever tells him anything when they’re planning on throwing a surprise party to celebrate one of the other skaters’ birthdays. It’s not that they don’t trust him, they’d trust him with their lives, it’s just that his energy always betrays his thinking. He’s empathetic, he’s emotional, he’s open. But all of those beautiful, good parts of Victor, they’re dreadful at keeping things in, at hiding things that specifically relate to others.

Yuuri waits patiently. He doesn’t mind. He can glance over at the television, he can watch the  god awful cartoon that’s playing out on the screen in front of him, even if it’s just so he can give Victor a moment. His partner can choose to say something or he can choose not to. That’s up to him, of course it is. But Yuuri will give him the space to figure it out. Groaning every now and then before he looks over at Victor and points out how ridiculous the show is. Victor smiles softly at him in return, his eyes heavy with an emotion that Yuuri can’t quite understand, not without the context of what Victor is feeling. But he can see the underlying sadness of it. He can see _that_ a mile off. And it prickles at his skin in an awful way.

‘Yuuri,’ Victor says eventually, as Yuuri wipes tears away from his eyes, the ridiculousness of the kid’s cartoon having slipped from being ‘irritating and frustrating’ to ‘funny and fantastical’. Now, Yuuri is taking the kind of pleasure from it that you get when you watch a ‘b’ movie, he’s ready to make fun of it and embrace its stupidity. The farce of it all lifting his spirits instead of crushing them down. But when he hears Victor’s voice, Yuuri turns to face his lover and he says, the ghosts of laughter still present in his tone, ‘Yes, sweetheart?’

‘I want to show you something,’ The silver-haired man offers ominously, and Yuuri straightens his back a little, shuffling to move a little closer to Victor on the two-man sofa that they are sharing. Victor has decided. He’s decided to say whatever it is he feels the need to say. Yuuri reaches out and presses his hand against his lover’s back.

‘What it is, Vitya?’ Yuuri questions quietly, his voice gentle and open. ‘You know you can show me anything.’

‘I know,’ Victor says then, in a way that almost breaks Yuuri’s heart. The Japanese man shushing his boyfriend before the apology can even form in the back of his throat. It’s just like they’ve been telling Yuri, it’s okay to take things at your own pace, and there’s absolutely no explanation needed for that.

‘Take your time,’ Yuuri offers, to drive his point home, subtly adjusting the angle of his body, so their thighs are touching. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Victor.’

‘I know you’re not,’ Victor grins, bumping his shoulder against Yuuri’s. ‘And I _never_ want you to.’

‘Then I won’t,’ Yuuri says quietly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘Don’t worry. Besides, I’d be really silly to walk away from the man I love, wouldn’t I?’

‘Yes,’ Victor says, his eyes shining with affection. ‘And I’d _never_ let you leave me.’

‘Good,’ Yuuri smiles, glad that they’re agreed on that at least.

‘Yuuri,’ he tries again, quieter this time, barely above a whisper, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. ‘I don’t want anyone else I love to leave me... not ever,’ Victor adds with an unexpected solemness. And Yuuri knows what his lover is thinking about now or, rather, he knows _who_ his lover is thinking about. He’s thinking of Illya again, of what happened to them both when they were so young. Of how it ended. Of how it left him hurt and feeling alone.

Yuuri slips his hand down and around, so he’s got his arm wrapped tightly around Victor’s back, his hand flush against his lover’s side, where he starts stroking his palm up and down in soft, soothing motions. More than aware of the comfort Victor draws from tactile contact.

‘Hey,’ Yuuri says, when he notices Victor wipe the back of his hand across his cheek. ‘You know you can speak to me about anything. There’s nothing you have to keep for me. So, if you need to talk about Illya - or if you _want_ to talk about him - about how you miss him, about the things you did together, about the things you remember about him, then you can. I want you to, Vitya. Because I want to know all about him - about the boy you loved, about the boy you still love. I want to know what he was like. I want to know what his favourite film was. I want to know how he made you laugh. I want to know about all of the mischief you got up to.’

‘There _was_ a lot of mischief,’ Victor smiles, his voice a little shakier than usual. ‘Illya…  you know, he was my first kiss, Yuuri.’

‘He was?’ Yuuri smiles at the revelation, as Victor’s cheeks flush crimson.

‘Да. We were young, maybe eight or nine. We weren’t in love, it was never anything like that. He was my best friend. And that was _everything_ to me. We’d seen a boy and a girl kissing in the year above us, we decided we wanted to see what it was like. It was weird. We had no idea what we were doing, or why. But I loved that about him, I loved that so much, that he just wanted to try things. He was always so open to new things, even back then. He was always so… engaged in the world around him. He had such an energy, Yuuri.’ Victor says, smiling at Yuuri, meeting his eyes.

‘He sounds incredible,’ Yuuri offers honestly before he recognises a wave of guilt wash across Victor’s face. He can see the blooming hesitation of it, the doubt, the unnecessary panic that says: _should I be saying all of this, should I be lauding praises on someone who isn’t my lover?_ He should, of course he should. So, Yuuri adds sincerely, ‘I wish I could have met him. But I know you must have so many great stories about him. And I know it’s not the same, that it never could be, but I already feel like I know him somehow. Not properly, not yet, but I feel like I can picture his energy. I feel like I can see the kind of person he was. And you were so right to love him.’

‘Would you…’ Victor starts before he seems to think better of it and he trails off.

‘What is it?’ Yuuri asks again, so tenderly that Victor’s heart starts to ache in his chest. This is painful, it’s almost desperate, the urge Victor has to introduce his lover to his childhood best friend.

‘Would you like to see him?’ Victor says quietly, before he adds by way of explanation. ’That’s what I wanted to ask you earlier. I have... I have a picture of him, of Illya, it was taken a few months before… _before_.’

‘You have a picture?’ Yuuri asks in surprise, his eyes widening, ‘Of course! I’d love to see him, Vitya.’

Victor reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, it’s the leopard print wallet that Yuri bought for him. Then he flips it over, drawing attention to a little zip that Yuuri hadn’t even realised was there, before he slides it across and pulls out a tiny stack of photographs.

The top one is of him and Victor, outside La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, he passes it across to Yuuri, who smiles fondly at the memory. He had no idea Victor has been carrying it around with him. He wants to lean across and kiss the man he loves but that will have to wait because, before he gets a chance to move, Victor is already handing him another tiny photo.

This time of Victor and Yuri. Yuri is a few years younger than he is now. Maybe thirteen or fourteen. They’re both dressed in animal print onesies, clutching two enormous bags of sweets as they beam up at the camera - it’s candid, and it’s unfiltered, and it’s absolutely beautiful. Yuri looks so happy that it makes Yuuri’s chest ache. He’s so joyful and he’s so relaxed - it’s a startling contrast to the persona he emits to protect himself from getting hurt. But Yuuri’s seen the other side of him now, Yuri has trusted him with that, and like Victor, he plans to honour it.

The next picture to be passed across is an image of Victor and Yakov. Victor is much younger, his silver hair sleek and long, hanging down across the shoulders of his pastel pink jumper. Yakov is smiling beside him, an arm slung across his shoulders, relaxed and warm, his usual hat replaced by a Santa hat. The background behind them sparkling with out-of-focus tinsel and multi-coloured fairy lights. Christmas has always been one of Yuuri’s favourite times of the year, so he’s oddly touched that Victor has chosen this as one of his most cherished moments with his mentor. Yakov is more like Victor’s father really, in a lot of ways. Supportive and ever-present. Gentle but strict. Nurturing and unjudging. Willing to do anything to see him smile. In fact, the more he gets to know the man, and the more he hears about his hair-braiding prowess, the more Yuuri is convinced that Yakov Feltsman is an incredible blessing in all of their lives. But particularly in the lives of Victor and Yuri.

Yuuri is smiling to himself when Victor passes him a third image. This time it’s of Victor and Christophe - they’re on a beach somewhere and the sun is absolutely pouring down on them, giving the whole thing a dreamlike quality. They’re both topless. Which is so _them_ it makes Yuuri laugh out loud. Palm trees surrounding them, drinks clutched in their hands, sunglasses protecting their eyes but doing nothing to disguise the happy creases that sit at the corners. The photo wasn’t taken forever ago, maybe a year or so at the most. And they both look so happy, even if they do have sunburnt shoulders (Victor _always_ forgets to apply lotion). And Yuuri can’t help but wonder if he’d already come on to Victor at the banquet or if the propositioning had happened a little later. Either way, he knows that Christophe was probably the first person he talked to about it. And, after hearing him talk to Victor on the phone - his voice filled with love, and compassion, and gentleness - Yuuri can’t wait to get to know Chris a little better. Honestly, he’d always seemed more than a little intimidating, all hands and crotch thrusts, but he’s _so_ much more than that. He’s the embodiment of love, and pride, and friendship. And Yuuri understands why Victor is so close to him, why he wholeheartedly embraces their relationship.

And then it’s time for the final photograph, the photograph of Illya - Yuuri knows it is by the way Victor seems to hesitate in handing it over. Looking over the photo with a fond smile before he gives it to Yuuri, drawing his lip between his teeth nervously. Not that Victor has anything to be anxious about.

Illya was beautiful, that’s the first thing Yuuri notices. Not because of his face (which _is_ beautiful) but because of the way his eyes sparkle. From what Victor has said, they’re both sixteen in the image. Yuuri remembers that as being a horrifically awkward time - all acne and crushed self-esteem. But looking at this picture, at Illya and Victor, you’d never know it. They look so self-assured. The pair of them smiling sweetly as they both reach behind the other’s head to give them ‘bunny ears’.

It’s cold in the picture, they’re outside, wrapped up in scarves and hats, strands of Illya’s blonde hair peeking out from beneath the woven yarn. His blue eyes sparkling like the perfect blue sky that hangs above them. They don’t know, Yuuri thinks. They have no idea. They won’t even comprehend what’s about to happen to them. The smile that seems so bright doesn’t know that it’s time is almost over. Victor, who is the essence of hopeful youth, has no idea that soon his friend will be murdered. Taken from him forever. He has no idea that he will be hurt so badly it will have an impact on his skating. That he will carry this moment around with him for the rest of his life, as a final reminder. As a physical memory of something once so real, and alive, and carefree.

‘Vitya,’ Yuuri whispers then, surprising even himself, as a soft tear rolls down his cheek. He can’t stop it. He doesn’t even try. Because it’s honest. Because it hurts. Because this beautiful boy, he’s _gone_.

‘I know, my love,’ Victor says, because of course he knows. He’s lived with this. He has felt its true weight. And he knows, just as Yuuri now does, that this photo is capable of forming a thick lump in the base of your throat. ‘He was a good person. He was so kind. And he was so soft. He was full of love. Like you. Like all of the people I carry around with me. Here and in my heart.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Yuuri declares quietly, tears now streaming down his face as he commits Illya’s young face to his memory - how soft his skin looks, how one of his golden eyebrows is ached slightly higher than the other, the enamel pink triangle that’s pinned to the lapel of his jacket, the essence of life that seems to bubble right out of him. Beyond the picture.

When he looks over to Victor, Yuuri sees that he’s crying too. So, he places the tiny photographs on the arm of the chair and he wraps his arms around his lover’s torso, holding him tight. ‘I’m _so_ sorry, Victor.’

‘No. Don’t be sorry,’ Victor says in reply, his voice hoarse and uneven as his tears continue to fall. ‘Just be happy. _Please._ For him. For you. For me. For us. For what… for what he could have been.’

‘I will,’ Yuuri says, cupping a warm palm against the back of Victor’s head, ‘I will, I will. I promise you, Victor. We’ll live good lives. We’ll keep making him proud of us, okay?’

Victor just nods, unable to form any further words and he doesn’t have to. Yuuri understands, Yuuri understands completely the sorrow that fills his chest and sinks down into the pit of his stomach. And he’s not going anywhere. Not if he can help it. Not if he has a _choice_.

And then he suddenly thinks of Yuri, down the hall, eating with Pasha. Yuuri thinks what might have been. Of what so easily might have come to pass. And he thinks about how harrowing it would have been if all he had left of Yuri - his bright, brilliant, sarcastic Yuri - was a single photo of his smile. A snapshot of a life barely begun. It’s too much. It’s far too much. Even to imagine. It makes him feel sick. He can taste the bitterness of bile rising in his throat. And he’s suddenly so angry, and afraid, and overwhelmed.

Yuuri clings a little closer to Victor then and he promises, to himself, to Victor, to Yuri, to Pasha, to Illya, to everyone he has ever known and loved, to any deity that will listen to him, he promises to live his life as best he can, as openly as he can, as freely as he can. For the boy who never could. For everyone who has had their time cut short. He can’t fix this. He could _never_ fix this. And he doesn’t want to. This is real, and painful, and _true_ . But he knows what he _can_ do. He knows what he _will_ do.

He will dream. He will live. He will love.

For as long as his heart’s still beating, _he will love_. 


End file.
